wutheringheights

My first train journey started with a fall. I was three year old. The compartment was waiting at the ‘outer.’ Since it was a break-up journey, we got inside it a little early. While my parents were busy arranging the baggage, I played up-and-down on the exit ladder. My first attempt was good, but the second one got spoiled. I lost grip and fell down. A railway employee (or a policeman?) who sat nearby immediately took me into his hands and performed a ‘pendulum-shake’– towards left and right for five times each. I was ok. But still, there was a mix of mud, tiny stones and blood oozing from my mouth. The sad patch was soon taken over by surprising images -- the midnight sun of the engine, waterfalls and the cashew uncle. We were on our way to Goa . A handful of peeled cashew nuts would come out of the window before our compartment. My dad would receive it with his right hand through our window. One or two might fall down. It was magic. Although I was clueless about its origin, I enjoy

wutheringheights: A tribute to Pavada Sir & Jumper

Last week while reading Kigsley Amis' Memoirs, 'Jumper' came to me . The context was different, but still 'Jumper' took me to my school days. We had a neighbour, a Singapore-returned, who used to wear only bell-bottom pants. To the 'creative' locals, it looked like a skirt, so they called him '*Pavada Sir'. The stout, polite man was also a magician. We got to know about this when he performed a show in the local temple in my hometown Attingal. Pavada Sir started off well, but failed while lifting a flowerpot using a thread. When the crowd laughed, Sir tried to pass the buck. “See, I told you guys, I needed a very calm atmosphere. Since you people made noise, it didn't work out.” That was the first and last public performance of Pavada Sir. Pavada Sir didn't mingle much with the locals. The only person who he used to talk was Raghavan Nair, his childhood friend. But Nair never thought that he would have to pay a huge price for this friendsh