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.

Highly Inflammable! That could best describe our Achachan. Anger comes to him naturally, but more often, unintentionally.

As mischievousness was the most salient quality we two, Vinod and I, had, we were like lighters in front of a petrol bomb. We were staying at a village called Kilivayal, close to the town Adoor, where Achachan worked.

We returned from school only to play Cricket with all the neighborhood boys. Our friends involved almost all boys around our house, and that friendship was beyond every casts and creeds. Siju, Boban, Alby, Shiju, Anish, Suresh, Satyan, Sujit, Bhanu, Kalesh, Libu, etc were the major members belonged to our team we called ‘Kilivayal 11'

Most of the time we played on ground of St. Cyril’s College (where our Achachan teaches, even today). As the professor's children, we had an easy access to the College premises and ground and this had also helped us in tapping much respect from our friends.

Other times, after the harvest season and monsoon, we could use Edathundil Appachan's rice field as the play-ground. All the boys preferred this as it was much broader and the land had by now grown fresh grass which was soft and satiny. On this field, we could act like Jhontys and Yuvrajs as fielders.

Wherever was the ground, and whatever was the match, we had a strict timeline from Achachan to return home by 6 every day. After his daily works and friend-meets, he would come back home and wait in the sit-out of our rented home, (which also belonged to Edathundil Appachan), reading a newspaper. Repeatedly, he would raise his head and see whether we were coming from play. As you would have expected by now, most of the days we played beyond gone beyond six and six thirties. But Achachan could not catch us every time, as we used to come by a back-side route and sneaked into home using the back door. Amma had been the only witness to our 'we-have-been-here-since-long' kind of strolling through the kitchen door and those almost-silent murmurs exchanged between us. She never used to reveal our 'crash-landing' though. But whenever we got caught by Achachan for being too late, either he would give us a deadly stare, which was severe than a stone pelt, or, though rarely, some minor 'caning treatments'

One day there was this cricket tournament we declared against Vayala, a village close by. The stake was nothing less but 5 rupees! :). The match was pretty cutthroat, and both the teams played hard to win the prize money. At the end, somehow it ended up in a verbal fight. And by the time we reached home, it was close to eight o clock. After having a bath at the well itself, we slid into the house through the kitchen door like usual, but directly landed up in front of Achachan who was sitting in the prayer room. He was really angry seeing us coming at such an odd time.

Breaths got stuck between the befuddling tension we were going through. Till now he had not opened his mouth at all but it was obvious that a lot of words have already piled up against us and plodding on his tongue, impatiently. Slowly he made us to see that he was intentionally looking at the cane that was kept near the window. We also gave it an unfriendly look and we got the clue (as expected). It was a new cane, freshly cut from the nearby communist pacha (Munnani, we call the plant).

As Prabha (our all-time negotiator to Achachan) had already started with the daily-evening prayers, he felt like postponing his decision on us till the prayer ends. It was more painful to wait for the punishment than to get it at the moment. We also took part in the prayer but passively. Our minds were full of the upcoming moments.

After the prayer songs, it was time to read from the Bible. At his turn, Achachan took the Bible, and started reading aloud. He looked like too much tensed about his boys' irresponsible attitude on life as he flipped the pages towards the New Testament. His first verse came like this; "pishachakunnu ningalude pithavu"! (John 8:44- You belong to your father, the devil). Alas! We raised our heads unbelievably. He had stopped reading there but was still looking into the Bible.

A second later, Achachan laughed aloud. In the next few moments what we witnessed was one of the greatest laughter rounds in our home. We could not believe he actually got to read it. Amma judged that he deserved it, as she never liked our 'angry Achachan'.

In the end, he forgot about the punishment and we hid the communist pacha in right time.

Jesus saves. Yes!

There was this fun happened at my brother, Vinod’s engagement. And as you would know me already, needless to say, the cause was mine.

The custom stated that we, the groom’s party, should arrive first at the church and then await the bride entering. We stood by that and came punctually to the famous Parepalli church in Changanacherry, where the bride belongs to.

It was showery and somebody told that the bride’s party would arrive late. My parents took this opportunity to greet all our guests in person, and soon they vanished in the crowd. The groom, my brother kept waiting in the car, looking at the mirror, confirming and re-confirming his looks.

I happened to see the bride, Jaimol entering the premises. As I couldn't find my parents with my naked eyes, I alone hurried to greet them at the gate and welcome them to the church.

My blazer misguided the photographers as it was not so familiar that someone wears a blazer for such occasions, unless he or she is the groom or bride. Even before Jaimol could see me, one of the photographers pulled me from the side and kept me close to my brother's fiancé while the other took one snap. I sniffed the danger and tried to leap behind. The moment Jaimol looked at me she screamed, “No!!! This is not my fiancé, this is his brother!”

I nodded.

Somebody rushed to the Car and then got the boy and solved the scene.

I've advised my brother not to wear a blazer for my engagement, which happened the following week.

My parents say I never used to cry when I was a baby. I used to amaze them with smile, by holding up to my name, even when falling down and hurting myself so badly. Yes, I even remember an instance when a Doctor, who was stitching a cut on my hand, without using anesthesia or any other pain-freezing options, asking me 'aren’t you a child, don't you feel like crying?'

Today I've changed. I cry like a child. Would you call it growing down?

I have noticed this change last year, when I met my younger brother after long time, and when both of us had a toast. I just looked into his eyes and he was doing the same. I cried and hugged him like a mad man and he cried too. We cried together for a long time. Ahoe!, We weren't alone there. A Whole group of friends who was watching this started to cry. :)

Last time I cried was when Nishitha told me that she never liked me. I cried like a new-born. I cried a complete night without letting anyone know much. I did not know why I felt so bad. May be because I loved her so much! May be because I could not believe someone disliking me! May be coz I felt like cheated. All my thoughts for her came into me at once and I felt like dying in my tears. The fun was that I met her only once in my life and the rest of our relationship was only through chatting! :)

Sometime back I literally cried when a man had returned my lost mobile phone that I never expected to get back. I thanked him in tears that he jocularly said 'I shouldn't have returned this phone'! He meant he did not want me to cry. :)

Today I can cry for anything. Every time I pray, I cry in secret. I cry for all my happiness. I cry for all my sadness. I cry for all who love me and hate me.

Someday someone was saying, you are an eccentric, too nimble with emotions but too bad at managing it! Is that right?

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.

Good Omen in the morning.

9 A.M. Today I got up with a bit of surprise, as my brother had already got up but was sitting on the bed, looking at my face.

Blinking, blinking he said, “Da, I’m hungry.. Gimme money, I will buy bread and come...”

Money? Ohh gosh.., the very word is dangerous…, it can haul your past and peel it again and again to find out that you, without money, are a big zero!

The word reminded me of the importance of the day, the last day, the final working day at EnableM, a place where I have been working since a couple of years…, a place from where I have grabbed friends for my life…., a place where I gave my flesh and blood for making dreams possible.

“Just swipe the card and come… See whether the pay is being credited or not”

EnableM is like that; it will never turn face against your monetary needs, but will make you wait for it. Just a little extra time!

The boy came back, looking down at his stomach. He put the print receipt on to my arms. “Not credited yet, sickos!” I felt guilty for taking a print of my zero balance and particularly more scared to think that the bank would even take action against printing null-balance receipts.

Today is my last working day here; bank balance is shamefully down, salary for the last month has not yet delivered to the account.

Last working day in an office! It’s not self-explanatory.

Office showed me a more caring face today. Like compensating my late-salary grievances. I found Neenad, the nunni at the gate itself, waving hands and calling out “Boy George”

Hmm, he calls me whatever he can; he just needs some alphabets and their phonetics. PS: Names come with gestures.

Amit Bhilare insisted me that I should meet him every day at my new office, nearby where he stays.

For the last time today, Ajit Nair reminded me of my duties to myself, from saving funds to pinging girls without investing my future!

The Brittannia biscuits brought to me by Jyotie tasted better today because she offered it too early as if she knew that I missed my breakfast! Crunch-crunch the lovely punch, “You gonna miss her”!

Aloha! My salary just got credited; the hungry boy called up right now as he went to swipe the card. At least he can have some decent food today. He might eat loads of Chinese food and have Sugarcane juice, his favorite.

EnableM did justice to me. Can there be a better “spare well”? I have done good to them, they’ve returned it.

I looked at Manish’s face. It was pretty “smilish” today. May be because his swollen lips have reduced to their normal looks after a horrible allergic week.

Comes here the last official mail; a mail that says Cheers and Thanks to all my friends here, probably something I always wanted to do over these times. Now is the right reason that is too strong to justify my urge.

B’bye all of you, you have been too good for me, and I have tried to match it. See you around, again!!

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.

Kerala is a great place. But I must say that this greatness is only in its looks and not in its contemporary mores. As days grow, the people in Kerala are becoming more and more insane and insolent. They will just meddle into and screw your glitter of life. When people have no job except some smutty dissolute politics, you can’t expect any good instincts from them other than fraudulence and criminality. Luck or not, the world is yet more or less unknown about these dissolutions.

As a Keralite, I have inexplicable disappointment in this heavy truth. But truth is always bitter, I grasp.

One of my recent experiences had matched this gloomy fact and affirmed it without qualms.

I had gone to Kerala during last Easter. It was a nice time out as the stress of jobs and strain of ‘daily living’ had surrendered to a kind of enticing calmness. With my brother and two other friends I went to the nearest town, Punalur, for a movie. We were in bikes and had to park the bikes in a shed nearby the theatre. The shed was the part of a tourist bungalow lying close to it.

Once the movie got over we came back to the bikes but what we could find was awfully nasty that the bikes’ tyres were punctured, mirrors broken and fuel dripped out. Being furious, we had no other way but to question the guard in duty of the Bungalow. He was heavily drunk and was in a bad mood. When he denied answering we could estimate that none other than him did the crime. Being a Law Student and furthermore branded for being very instinctive, my brother had created a scene over there. He pointed out the nifty sections of the law like a priest reciting the preludes of verses!

Finally the man told us that the police had done those misdemeanors because it was non-parking area. He also claimed to have paid five hundred bucks to the police for the carelessness from his side.

My brother was at the end of his patience. He slapped the guard on the spot, as it was clear that he was lying.

By this time, somebody had called the police. ‘Drunkards attacking a guard’, police rushed in with necessary set up to offer all of us a night’s stay in the lockup.

Seeing police coming, the guard got charged up! Vengeful in mind, the over-smart guard took hold of my collar and tried to hit me with his knees. Caught on the spot for this misbehavior, the guard too was taken to the police custody.

From then till reaching the police station, it was a rain of all bad words in the language, a special talent that our policemen can boast of!

“Lock up! Oh my god, this is the first time I’m coming to a police station! That too, like a criminal! Beaten up and abused! My little brother, my friends, my pride, my self-respect , I am going to see all this agony?” I never wanted to argue with that foolish guard, I never wanted to question my bike’s damages, I never wanted to park my bike there, I never wanted to come for that movie... but no use now!

The policemen asked us to remove our shirts and shoes. My brother, who couldn’t digest what was really going on, opened his lawful mouth yet again, but to get beaten up again. My self-belief couldn’t prevent the brook of tears from flowing alongside the cheeks and falling down like a tap kept open. I cried in heart like a child.

From here, the things were not very awful as we expected. All of us were taken to the hospital for medical tests to find out whether drunk or not and this had saved us! It was found that we were normal but the guard, who too was taken for the tests, was drunk extremely.

Later we told the police that the guard had accused the police of doing the crime of damaging the bikes. Hearing this, the police rage has amplified against him and he got further charges.

See! Someone just intrudes into your life, makes it unhappiest and then gets himself in peril!

By this time, our poor dad had arrived there, with all his nerves arrested like frozen. He was neither angry nor sad. He had no emotions.

Because he wanted his sons to be conscientious and proactive always, though he never wanted to meet them in a police station in such a condition!

We lied to him that they didn’t beat us!

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???