There is this story of Hibiscus.

We have a cousin, Sijo, who is only a few years younger to me. She was part of our Childhood gang in Edamon. Now she is working in some hospital in Delhi I guess, and not in constant touch with us. But thinking of our childhood esplanades, this forgetfulness is not fully acceptable.

Now our story.

When she was about 4 years old, Vinod and I, used to keep Hibiscus flowers on her pillow every night after making sure that she was asleep. In the mornings, she used to get anxious about the same and we had an answer, some Gandharvans must have kept it for you.

She was kind of loving the never seen Gandharvan and Hibiscus flowers.

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.

This is Panikkathi, one of the heroins in this LIFE. We have done something terribly wrong to her by not calling her for the two weddings in my family. Since my wedding as well as my brother's wedding had happened within the span of two weeks in last August, there was less time for our memory to throw light on this great companion of three generations in our family.

However, we have washed a part of this sin-stain by visiting her in Edamon and took her back to our current home, at Nediyara (Close to Anchal).


And in the lucky-draw conducted during the Onam celebration at home, it was she, who won the prize money (there was only one). After every one had gone, she asked me whether I purposely gave her the prize by writing her name on all the coupons. I was smiling, but denied it saying, 'she was indeed lucky'!

I was talking about this incident to Ebie yesterday.

Till 8th standard we had to learn stitching as a part of our school curriculum at my High School in Edamon.

The stitching teacher came with a beautiful kerchief she had stitched, and wanted us to re-iterate the same. I did not like the period overall but half-heartedly I had to do this assignment.

Keeping the cloth on my lap, I took long time to stitch as half as my exceptional buddies did, and at the end, it was more than a fun.

I tried to raise the cloth and show my work to the teacher. Bad, it was also raising my shirt! Oh Sad, I realized with a senseless smile that all these time, I was stitching on my shirt that fell on my lap while sitting.

The 'rewinding' kept me busy for another period.

Long long ago, in a small village called Edamon, when there were no cosmetic revolutions and beauty pageants to come to live in people’s minds, one naughty boy recommended a ground-breaking idea to grow his sisters’ hair long till their buttocks.

It was this - ‘Tie and hang stones on hair and stand in the sunlight’

Not only did he recommend, he even went on and staunchly helped to tie those stones on their hair. Together they stood and looked as if snake-gourds in the village farmyards. (In the farms of Kerala, like exclamation marks, the longish Snake-gourds would lie topsy-turvy and stare at people as if sentenced to be hanged till death. Stones used to be tied on them to grow them lengthy.)

They were later called as 'Snake-gourds. And that naughty boy was my father.

Like tit for tat, today as I see my hair falling one after the other, the same sisters of him have remedies for me. ‘Apply Snake-gourd paste on your hair or try to drink Snake-gourd juice if possible.’

Revenge sustains through generations, what else?

If you scuff your memories on my older posts, you may reach my ancestral village Edamon once again. You may meet up our old maid named Panikkathi as well.

Panikkathi used to tell us stories of ghosts and fiends. Today I thrust them aside as superstitions and falsehood, though once I lived in the tip of fear listening to her stories. This is one such story of a ghost, whom Panikkathi had encountered during her creditable journeys into the woods.

There was this mountainous woods lying close to my ancestral house, beside the meter gauge railway track that separated the house and connected the Punalur to Sengottai. The woods had given the entire village a dusky overlay. With sky-high trees filled the land, light hardly entered into the woods. Shadows rarely escorted the bodies as darkness ruled the days than light. Life was numb and emotions were stuck in the womb of fear. Every moment there asked for courage.

Panikkathi used to go to the woods alone. With a sickle fixed tightly on to her waist cloth, she would walk into and fade out in the darkness, singing songs for a favorable setting. The dead and grounded leaves would grumble her steps with craggy noises but she wouldn’t bother. Trees would stand still, watching her passing them one by one.

One day, it was late when Panikkathi set out to the woods. The Sun was at the end of its trail and darkness spread sooner than usual.

Panikkathi made her moves quicker. The earlier she could cut the grass, the earlier she could return to her home. She went past the silent woods and cribbing crickets. Owls looked down at her audacity. She kept on walking as she could not find grass enough to cut. At the end she had reached the peak of the mountain. She found lots and lots of grass to cut.

As it was the topmost place, the land looked brighter. As Panikkathi bent to cut the grass, she heard the clanging noise of bangles. She looked around. To her surprise, she found a young girl sitting a few meters away from her. Facing the Sun setting, she was sitting on a rock bed. Clothed in red, she looked blood-stained, and her luxurious hair had flowed down her back. Panikkathi was not sure of approaching her. From behind, Panikkathi made her wavering steps towards the lonely girl. In a hand’s distance, she stopped. Tenderly she asked, “Dear girl, what are you doing here alone?”

The girl looked back at her. The very moment, the hair that covered her back had moved to her side, and what was seen was horrible. She had no skin at the back!! Her bones were visible similar to viewing a skeleton. She had no eyes. Two dark holes were left.

Tenderly she replied to Panikkathi, “Go home... This is not a good place to stay"

Panikkathi did not think twive. She ran back! She ran down the valley like a horse running away from hounds. Somehow she reached home. She was said to be unwell for a week or more. Later she shared her experience with others.

“Could be an unlucky girl cheated by some men…. Thank God, she spared me!!” she was telling me.
Love or fear, from then, she started lighting a special lamp for the young girl's sake.

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.

No, I didn’t intend it. Don’t call it a prank.

April Fool’s Day takes me back to the past like a mad cow chewing all day’s grubby grass-rolls with a fascinating smile. With a demure slightness, the day pings back all those ‘horseplays and fooling arounds’!

A simple prank proved out to be a bit worrisome last year. I had called up my friend 3G’s (name changed to provoke him) momma in Kerala and gave her some shocking news! I informed her that he got married in Mumbai and was coming back home. With ample seriousness and convincing voiceover, she was told that this wife of him was a Punjabi, the only daughter in her family and hence the Sardarjis in Mumbai were about to make a riot in search of the girl. 3G was on his way of eloping with his wife.

The poor lady just asked me what I was saying as she couldn’t believe what I was saying. Her voice tapered and she was about to break down. She made a shrill cry and handed over the phone to his sister, who was watching all these.

Poor 3G, no one in this planet can think of him doing like that. Why about eloping and marrying, he even stays away from looking at a girl right for a while! But this mom believed with pain that her son got changed once he came to Mumbai 2 months before.

His sister told me that her mom was not feeling well. I couldn’t hold it any more as I got frightened that something wrong would happen. I told her that it was a prank directed by me. Though she did not really understand the meaning of April Fool’s day, she didn’t abuse me over the phone!

During my schooling days with my brother, innovative pranks used to give us brakeless laughter. Once we had created a ‘paper tiger’. We coiled rubber bands tightly on a matchstick and wrapped it in gift wrapper. At various crucial points on the walkway, we placed them and hid near to watch the fun. I still remember one of our innocent victims who took it with utmost care. After confirming that no one was watching him, he opened it like a greedy dog ragging a food trash. In a moment, he got shocked as the rubber band loosened matchstick and it created a krrrrrrrrrrrrr sound on the paper! Sure, our victim was not having a nice time! Wasn’t it creaky?

Another outstanding prank I did was with a friend, Jose. We superglued coins on some public places and roads. And the result was beyond our laughing limits!

Along with its fun, April Fool’s day has its difficult moments too. As an active prankster, you tend to disbelieve others even if they tell you actual facts. Theeppathi Muthalali died on April 1, but we refused to believe the person who first brought the news. Muthalali was a businessman and he used to run the main grocery store in Edamon, a place where we used to live. By the time we confirmed his death, he went under the soil.

One more April Fool’s day is in. My friends, I don’t really know what I should do to all of you. But 3G, Joseph and Jose, be sure, there is something on your way!! And of course, you too dear Jackass!!

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!

With people like Narendra Modi around, today we can’t help having that feeling of a Hindu or Muslim or Christian. They keep on reminding us through every word and action. Even if we don’t accept a label, they will try to inflict it upon us.

Without these people, assume how fruitful life would have been? I can remember an honest incident to take your attention for granted; an incident which taught us that you are not a Hindu nor a Christian but a human being.

Like every other Sunday, we had to go to church on this particular Sunday too. The kids had to reach the church early. The purpose of going so early was to attend the Sunday School, spirituality classes meant for the parish kids.

But we never.

What we went for was to attend another spiritual feast, namely Ramayana, a tele-serial used to be aired those days, exactly at the time of our Sunday School classes. Just beneath the church was this house, where we flocked to watch the serial.

Once the serial was over, we stepped in the Church.

Ohh… awaiting our arrival, there was someone standing in front of the Church, the priest, Father John. He had a stick in hand.

“Where were you? “

“There.” Our hands showed the house.

“Doing what?”

“Watching Ramayana”

“Then tell me who took the Ring as Keepsake of Sita and went to Lanka to console her?”

“Hmmm Hanuman”

“Good. Now go to Church.” He left the stick on the ground.

At the end of the Holy Mass, he asked all the kids to stand up. Then he told to the parents that from the coming Sunday onwards Sunday School would be one hour later after the serial got over.

Simple fun can bring serious danger. Listen to what had happened to my brother and sister when they were as young as flower buds.

On the terrace, I was helping my mother to dry her sari. Standing apart from each other, we held the sari just like in a tug-of-war. This is how we straighten the curved parts of the sari.

During this time, my sister came on to the fore followed by her ever-haunting brother. Playing ‘Police and Thief’ they were in no mood to look at what we were doing. The sari was kept against the little girl and she came backwards just to get entrapped in the sari and then fall backwards. There was no blockage to stop her and she fell down from the terrace to a depth of 30 feet.

The moments we took to regain the breaths can’t just be expressed through these words. The only sister, so small and pretty, but all seemed like a bad riddle.

In the meantime, some of the elders could nab the culprit, the mischievous boy, who was standing like a busted vase. One of them caught hold of him and awarded him with punishments.

He couldn’t just stand his emotions. He ran towards the canal flowing nearby. He wanted to end his life. A life without his sister was too unthinkable.

Manju, an elder sister of mine could act her nerves, and she grabbed the boy from jumping into the terrifying canal.

Fortune again felt mercy towards us, and the little girl was safe in the fluffy sand without an injury. [Though now she is rather injurious):]

Even today, this incident haunts us, but rather like a melodrama acted by two beloved actors the hero VINOD and the heroine PRABHA.

By the way, there is one guy I wanted you to meet. He is my own brother. Brand Name, Vinod Matthew Wilson.

Describing his heroics is pretty difficult and I ‘m a bit sleepy now, so lemme tell you one of his several grand ‘blunderful’ spoofs.

He was around 5 years old when he gave birth to this cute bungle that we still haunt to get an inspired laugh whenever coming together.

It was the time of our forefathers’ feast. All the big-small, bigger-smaller, biggest-smallest members in the family were gathered there in our ancestral house. Forefathers’ feast is an important occasion for the family because, more than remembering the deceased fellows, it played a convincing role in bringing all the family members together for sometime.

Yes, this day we all prayed for the ancestors’ souls. As usual, my grandmother wept for sometime remembering her lost children, father and mother. After this, it was the time for the grand lunch.

Before any ‘living member’ tasting the food, dinner, properly served, would be offered to the departed souls specially in a remote room. It was the job of the eldest member of the family. My grandpa had done this reverentially and he came out after closing the door.

Sometime later, while we children were eating in another room, there heard a screech followed by crumbs of laughter. The source of laughter was well known to us, as our grandpa had been gifted with a great sense of humor and we guys used to hear him laughing at every other minute for something or the other. But now, at this moment what had made him laugh in a mirth?

We forgo the food and ran.

At the ancestors’ room we saw my little bro standing amused in front of the humor-stricken grandfather. With a slight coyness, Grandpa had pointed towards the room. Though smelled a rat, we kept our reverence in due extent as we were going to peep into the esteemed haven of forefathers.

There we saw, but to our wariness, a group of dogs eating the dinner ceremoniously. What a pity???

By this time our grandma came with a small cane and the uninvited guests ran away.

But still, the grandpa was going like a “brakeless bus.” Laughter, another laughter and another and another…’Gone mad’, Grandma hinted in a sulk.

Later in the day he confessed us the top secret that drove him eccentric.

That my brother, who was watching the dogs eating the foods, had then asked him, “Grandpa grandpa, your papa and mamma had tails or what???