Cherthala Diaries Part two- The non-adventures :D

Day 1

Cherthala’s been hit by mosquito menace this summer. The unofficial ‘National Animals’ of Kochi have taken the little place by storm. Kitchen door chit chat between grandma and the neighbours now regularly features the amount of mosquito carcasses generated in each house by the most modern of all mosquito fighting technology- the all powerful ‘bat’. This revolutionary device has made a true sport of mosquito swatting. All you do is sweep the air around in one or two graceful movements one by one and the little devils fry to death with a delightful crackling sound. Ha…

Of course here ammamma’s yet go give in to this ‘new’ technology (cherthala’s a little snailish on the tech front you see) . But she has her own version of ‘The bat’- a bat shaped contraption of her own, fashioned out of the hard part of an arecanut leaf, yes, the ‘paala’.( Actually ‘contraption’ would be a stretch, its just a ‘paala’ cut to a bat shape for use as a fan which, due to changing realities, found itself elevated to the status of a mosquito fighting device.) So instead of frying mosquitoes by swinging the bat in fluid, graceful movements, we beat them to death one by one with savage force. Ptash ! ptash! , goes grandma as she happily indulges in this exercise while watching cheesy old movies on TV. She sits there now, beating around her legs and checking to see if the mosquito on the floor’s really dead. Onscreen, Mammotty’s stealthily following the villains who raped his wife and sister, looking like a mosquito himself, with a black outfit and giant shades!

After a particularly violent thrash, grandma looks up at me, visibly amused by her new hobby. “ Our bat works well don’t you think?” she asks laughing.

“Maybe we should put up a board and sell them” I suggest. She nods and laughs.

“It’s the next big thing!”

The mighty ant population of Cherthala’s also on an upswing. The Giant( well. In ant terms, giant) red orange ‘musaru’ ants are building nests on every cashew tree, the tough black ants which go about alone and which wont die even if you hit them with a brick and stamp on top of it(guess how I know :P ) , are all over the place. The myriad of little ants also abound. In fact, the first big news from grandma’s kitchen today was that the carefully guarded sugar bottle had been hit by tiny red ants. I was given my first assignment when Grandma spread a newspaper in front of me as I sat staring with my tea on the back porch and spread the ant hit sugar on it. I am to swipe the ants away as t hey disperse from the sugar mound and spread out in panic. And these ants bite! I put my glass down and get on with it. In no time I had meticulously finished the tricky operation with minimum ant casualties. Grandma takes away the sugar; “Operation Red hunt has successfully expelled the guerilla ants”, I declare to myself. Chidambaram should really really hire me ( :P )

As I get back to day dreaming and staring at the trees, I notice that a clearly miffed ant is clinging to my ankle, biting with all its might. I stare at it for a while, too lazy to brush it away. I stare a little more. Its not very entertaining though. He/she is getting on my nerves a bit.

"stop biting me..” I tell the teeny ant. Its in no mood to listen.

I nudge it a little. “shoo…” It finally gives in and falls to the ground, then wriggles and walks away in a huff.

“I had to defend the sugar…” I whisper after it regretfully. It scrambles away angrily and does not look back.

“Can’t we atleast talk about this?”...

“Abjure violence, come for talks!.." I shout after it in a tiny voice.

Now where have I heard that before? Umm.

Day 2 and then on

On the days I’ve been here, my chief entertainment has been sitting on the kitchen porch staring at the life around, participating only when something interesting throws up (or when I am made to, by granny). The porch is good place to observe things. In front of me stretches the backyard, through it runs the makeshift lane which leads to an opening in the fence a long way off. This is the lane through which grandma’s many visitors use to make their stop over at her kitchen door. I sit on the steps looking out. A little off to my left is the large pond, filled with fish and turtle and snakes and possibly even a loch ness monster of the Alleppey variety (well it is a huuge pond), under the thick cover of water weeds. To my right is a smaller pond which only fills up during the rains. Near to it stands the fire wood shed. All around me are trees. So everyday, I sit a long while on the steps watching things develop and people come and go, while grandma buzzes about having her share of strictly ordered, efficient ‘fun’.

The first visitors to appear on a usual morning are the crows, in particular a large black ‘valluvan’ crow that stations itself on a tree near the kitchen window waiting for scraps, occasionally attempting breaking and entering into the kitchen too. Next comes the woman who sweeps the yard very morning and helps grandma with chores; she’s new, the old one’s ‘run off’ somewhere, according to you know who. As the lady goes out with a broom and pot, I am summoned in for tea. When I come back to my vantage point after a while, the scene's changed completely. The suns shining and the birds, all of them, have descended. A group of noisy, spirited birds called ‘pothaankiri’ hop about on the trees and on the yard, chirping and getting into fights among themselves and with other birds. One or two mynahs walk about with their heads high under the jack tree near the large pond. The cuckoo is already at its usual spot, a branch of the huge ‘aanjili’ tree, screaming bloody murder and biding time till its chased away by the pothankiri birds. A slim, black headed bright yellow bird comes and sits on the mango tree, chirps, looks around a bit and flies off in a hurry. A flash of blue, the kingfisher, flies across the pond with a catch as a pretty little bird, the ‘kola kozhi’ comes out of the pond and probes around in the kitchen garden. Many other shy winged things fill the air with noises unseen. Little squirrels, adorable brats, scamper up and down trees and play hide and seek.

As these inhabitants go about their business, some visitors arrive. There’s that bend, old lady who is addicted to ayurveda medicines. She stops by for some idle chat on her way to my aunt’s dispensary at the junction. Grandma, who hates being disturbed during her chores, tries to shake her off, but the woman won’t budge. She goes on and on about how her daughter in law doesn’t treat her right etc. The fish vending lady comes next. After some subtle mind games and negotiations, grandma and the lady reach a grudging compromise and she departs after unloading some of her wares. After her, the grocer comes with groceries for ‘teacher’. Later a partly blind lady drops by and hovers around for lunch. A neighbor comes to buy coconuts… the list goes on.

So today, a day as normal as any other, I sit on the steps with tea and a slightly disoriented head. I can see my uncle and grandma walking towards home through the path running to the kitchen from the opening in the fence at the end of the back yard.

“Nandu, there’s someone here to see you!” Grandma calls out. I rub my eyes and look at the approaching group. “Is that a cow coming behind them??” I go out to meet them and to see who the visitor is.

“Buffallo!” my uncle exclaims to me. So we have a new inhabitant.

I keep my distance; pets and farmyard animals were never my thing. The little buffalo is bewildered. “It’s from Pollachi”, my uncle enthusiastically explains his new acquisition. Grandma’s happy at the new arrival whose only purpose according to my uncle and her, is to clear the land around the house, which is over grown with weeds of all kinds. That’s not an unpleasant job for cattle to be burdened with, I think; laze around and eat grass, sounds good.

The little buffalo, whom granny christened ‘Panchami’ ( I have no idea what that means, neither does she), is understandably melancholy all day. It refuses all food and drinks just a little it of water. Uncle takes it down to the pond in a bid to cheer it up with a bath. No use. I try to keep it company lest it’s afraid of being left alone and try to cheer it up with grass sprigs. Panchami’s in no mood to cheer up. She sleeps through the first day and most of the next.

Grandma and I go visit her from time to time, trying to coax her into accepting food. Its her second day and we have had little success. She refuses to touch the grass and just drinks water. I stroke her head and even give her massage behind her ears to cheer her up a bit. She looks up with big moony eyes and then tries to eat my kurta. “ Now come on...!” I say and lift up her chin. The little buffalo looks up at me with such a forlorn expression that even I, the happy sunshiny cherthala version of myself, am a little depressed. Depressed by a buffalo; how strange is the world.

We need to get her to eat something I tell granny. Grandma goes around the yard and gathers what she says to be the most appealing of grass varieties. Panchami won’t even look at it. “She’ll come around” grandma says, “lets wait a while, your uncle will probably think of something”.

And uncle does. The next day, we have a delivery- hay. Uncle has ordered them to be brought to see if Panchami will take a liking to it. We take a little to her and stand away. Panchami looks at us and then sniffs the hay. Grandma, Uncle and I wait with bated breath. And Voila! She likes it. Panchami chomps it all down and looks up. Bring more, Here we go!

So hay it is. As Grandma and I wait for uncle to bring more hay, Panchami looks at us as if to say, “why couldn’t you think of this earlier you fools?”.

More hay is brought.. We watch with amusement as she eats. Suddenly uncle’s face becomes clouded with thought.

“Hay’s friggin expensive these days…”

“Umm.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to eat all the grass?” I ask aloud.

Uncle looks around, then at me and then at the buffalo.

“This can’t be right...”

Oh we’re screwed.

contd