a clean and well-lighted space: PEACOCK FEATHERS IN A TERMITE-EATEN TEXT BOOK

Elephantine Dreams by Babu Xavier - acrylic on canvas - 2005

Paathhagar

The printed Malayalam had always fascinated me. By the time I learnt the alphabets and was able to read fluently, my father had stopped subscribing the newspaper “Dinamani”. I didn’t know why he didn’t subscribe to Mathrubhumi even though he had set himself in the Gandhian mould. I believe he had a caste concern in selecting the paper though he didn’t Dinamani that seriously. “Ah…my paper “Nunamani”, he joked with a smile. An old man in his seventies used to bring us the daily anytime in the afternoon. I used to call him Paper Valliayachchan . Mostly, the newspaper was delivered enmass, three to four days arrears in a bundle and Paper Valliyachchan would walk away cool without any sort of expression. He always had a far-way look on his face.

I got fed up reading text books top to bottom. Then one day I could dig-out the collected works of Kunchan Nambiar from an almost abandoned box. I was overjoyed. Not because of any inclination towards poetry. The material was voluminous enough to keep me engaged for a few years. However, it turned out to be a disappointment; the book had a foul smell and the pages were damp. The parts I read were highly decorative and the characters quite alien. Enough of Kunchan Nambiar., I went ahead with my treasure-hunt and could unearth two more surprises. The SNDP Yogam Souvenir was a directory of sorts with a Who’sWho. The second item was far more interesting, the Dinamani annual issue containing several short stories. I still remember the name of one, “Papaththinte santhathi panapole thazhakkunnu”. (The sinners tribe gets multiplied, always). The heroine of the story is ditched by her lover after getting pregnant. She is all set to become insane. Towards the end of the story, she turns a full blown lunatic and zig-zags through Egmore Railway Station. “Maharaana…mannichchidungo…”

The story didn’t go down well with me as I didn’t know the intricacies involved in ditching a girl. Of course, I disliked the picture of a lunatic, a female lunatic in particular. Luckily there was a saving grace the Dinamani annual. One story literally moved me and it had a rural backdrop. All those romantic settings.. a pristine village, pond filled with lotus flowers, moon- lit nights et al. One would never imagine the tragedy that was in store. The boy and girl meet and fall in love, dutifully and promptly. She is killed in the end by the villain by drowning her in the lotus pond. I got so moved that I read it out to my mother. She was not interested. Contrary to my expectations, she was indifferent and disapproving. I didn’t know why.

Again a relapse.

Childish series by Babu Xavier -acrylic on canvas - 2006

Nothing to read… for years together. Luckily my father's younger brother's son, Veerarajan came for rescue. He had completed his degree in Mechanical Engineering from TKM College, Kollam. (The College had sent his father a telegram breaking the news !) First Class was a rare commodity those days. A job was even rarer. In spite of his high honours, Veerannan had to hunt for a job with plenty of time to do nothing. He thought of starting a Reading Room & Library. Others too joined him, …all young men and they found a corner of a Coir godown to start off their venture. A desk, two benches and a wooden cupboard completed the furniture. Shortly afterwards, the inventory was appended by one more desk and a chair. Meanwhile, we had collected a small fortune in books gathered from households. To raise funds, we took out Vishukkani, a chair decorated with a Sreekrishna idol and other accessories (read paraphernalia) needed for Vishu darshan. The chair was carried around to each and every household. We were in a hurry as we wanted to cover the entire village before daybreak. People were abruptly woken up any time after midnight with our high decibel rendering of

Narakavairiyaam Aravindaakshante

Cheriya kaalathe kalikalum….

It was not a proper song for Vishukkani. Nobody had the expertise to select a “socially and psychologically” correct verse from our limited access to Malayalam poetry. But the effort was worth the effort. An unexpected wind-fall. The whole village contributed so much that we could subscribe three major Malayalam dailies and almost all important weeklies.

Missing My Reds by Babu Xavier -acrylic on canvas -2006

I read all those in print, books and magazines, sometimes more than once. I broke open the tiny window of my dark, solitary cubicle and had a full view of the blazing mid-day sun. It was revealed to me that there existed a vast and strange kind of world outside my obscure village. Did we really matter…..?

Our Paathhagar “Navajeevan Reading Room & Library”, was a meeting place too. A rendezvous for people, especially for the youth during the evenings. It was a rendezvous for ideas as well ! We discussed everything under the stars!!. …with practically no knowledge about anything. More often than not, I was served the summons by my mother during the evenings when I made a bee-line to Navajeevan after school. Abruptly she would reach the place to get me arrested. I had to fetch her drinking water from the public well. It did annoy me to no end but the public gathered at Navajeevan always sided with her and overruled my objections.

In due course, a couple of years or so, Navajeevan got its registration under Kerala Library Council and started getting grant. Veerannan was the prime-mover Secretary and his class-cum-bench-mate, Mohanlal, the President. Both were graduates and doing the struggler rounds desperately for a job. The grant amount was utilized in full for buying books from National Book Stall. Even the 10 to 15 % commission that NBS gave us was also expended in buying additional books. They could have used the discount for their travelling expense to town and back. These jobless young men took money from their pockets, went to town by State Water Transport, took frugal vegetarian meals from some “Laxmi Vilasom” joint near Boat Jetty, carried books by hand from NBS to reach them to their people back in the village.

The selfless act showed. Even the semi-literate working women started enrolling themselves as members. Unfortunately they didn’t have much to choose from. The collection contained mostly detective novels written by Durga Prasad Khatri with curious names such as Mruthyukiranam, Chemanna Kaippaththi, Velutha Chekuthaan ….nine volumes in total. The hero, Gopal Shankar is a young scientist who invents various gadgets ranging from night-vision binoculars to airplanes which can remain stationary in mid-air without making any sort of sound from its rotating parts ! The hero uses state-of-the- art technology against the ruling British. (Velutha Chekuthaan). The scientist also leads a group of young men and women in guerilla warfare. Perhaps the writer had Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose in mind as his role-model. Anyway Khatri’s books (translated by Dr.P.S.Nair) were well received. Of course, we had Thakazhi, Dev and surprisingly, not much of Basheer!

The first book I read was “Velutha Kathreena” authored by Muttathu Varkey and I read it in a single go. I liked it immensely.

Navajeevan even started a Kayyezhuthu Masiaka (monthly hand-written publication). The inaugural issue had its cover done in oil. It was an abstract, a man in horseback galloping towards sun…towards light! The village youth started writing in it. Mostly pieces of light humour on life.

Slowly the reading habits of people started changing. From the run-of-the -mill, the taste shifted slowly towards world classics. Mostly due to the efforts of a single man, V.Sambasivan. He was a pioneer in the popular art-form kathaprasamgam. All temple festivals had kathaprasamgam as a sine-qua-non. A three hour long story telling laced with oratory, mono act, mimicry, song and music. The main artist was called kaathikan , assisted by a four member ensemble., the harmonist on his left-side, table player on the right, clarinet player and the percussionist on the background. The percussionist added effect by clashing the cymbals at most dramatic turning points of the main story. Sambasivan and others like him brought Shakespeare.....to Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, ….to Bimal Mitra, Shankar….to Malayattoor Ramakrishnan, M.Mukundan….in simple narratives to the village people , almost illiterate and always plain.