sabu-j-blog-blog

[sabu-j-blog-blog]

Marriage

A quarter century old 'marriage invitation card'.

Two days back, at my Tripunithura home while searching some old documents, this invitation card of my marriage popped up creating a surge of nostalgia.

My son Nandu, a graphic designer, wasted no time in appreciating its simplicity, beauty and graphic sense generously.

The applause is worth, considering the era of its printing and the arrogantly gaudy invitation cards of today. This is purely my view and not meant to criticise the personal choice of those who like to be more expressive and glitzy in announcing an important event in their lives.

Coming from him, a young lad very critical about aesthetic, I felt immense happiness. The credit goes to my father Janardhanan Nair who insisted this pattern, the enthusiastic young printer of Vattiyoorkav Trivandrum, my brother Aniyan for introducing the printer (who is his friend) and me who preached simplicity then!

The interesting turn was Nandu’s query, after checking the dates in the card, to my wife Krishna:

“Twenty five years of marriage! Amma, how come both of you managed it? Don’t you ever feel the boredom of it?”

Wasting no time, I quipped.

“It is a masala film still running full house, my dear. All ingredients mixed in proportion- romance, drama, music, stunt, fight, comedy, tear jerker, thrill..” (And of course the three letter word ending with ‘x’, which I purposefully omitted considering the audience!)

-Dated 10th February 2014.

[sabu-j-blog-blog]

RAM IS A BOY

I realised, not only humans but less mortals like motor vehicles could also go mad. The Delhi - Agra highway was roaring before me in testimony to it. The lone jawan at the gate was emotionless, his hands clutched firmly on the machine gun. Beyond the gate, the township road lay lit partially by the fading sun and rest by sodium vapour lamps. The dusk was yet to pick up and so was the market in front of the gate of Mathura Refinery Township. The blaring horns of the assorted automobiles were irritating. It was a new and strange world to me, transplanted fresh to the northern plains from the western shores. I just wandered out from my chilly guest house room in search of a telephone booth. An evening exactly twenty years before this day. As I waited patiently to cross to the telephone booth across the highway, my eyes struck to a middle aged villager clad in hand woven green sweater strolling leisurely a few feet away from me, a double barrel rifle strung casually on his left shoulder. It astonished me as I used to witness firearms only on a couple of scenarios till then- with the police or in movies! Leaving Krishna and three year old son Nandu back in Mumbai, I was homesickness personified. Hardly twelve hours before, while alighting from Paschim Express at Mathura Junction I reminisced a lesson from my class ten Malayalam text book, of Professor Mundassery Master’s account of drinking hot milk from roughly moulded earthen pots at Mathura Railway station. I could not find any legendary milkman or milk women on that cold February morning. A rough and shivering auto rickshaw ride under support by broken communication led me to Engineers India Limited’s Project Office at Mathura Refinery to start my second phase of official life as a Senior Engineer. The cordial and helpful office atmosphere boosted my confidence but failed to ward off the pain of separation from family. While pouring my emotions into the telephone receiver, Krishna tried to help from the other end, knowing little that her husband would land back in Mumbai deciding to quit Engineers India Limited hardly a week after joining there. I started job hunt in Mumbai. One evening while pillion riding with me on my Kinetic Honda holding a dozing Nandu in her lap, on the busy artery road in sector nine of Vashi Navi Mumbai, Krishna made the decision of her life. Her right hand firmly on my shoulder, she declared. “Sabu, stop this job hunts while you already have a better job. I am quitting my job. Let us shift to Mathura. You cannot live alone.” From the next telephone booth, I talked to my senior Ravi Kaul to ensure my job and to inform him about my return. I escaped from Mathura applying two days casual leave and absconding for ten days! Back in Mathura, my colleague and friend Sunil Gupta was prohetic. “Welcome back to Engineers India Limited! You will never regret your decision”. But till date, I am not aware whether Krishna regretted. It was a clear sacrifice of her career. The commemoratory silver plaque for twenty years of long service in Engineers India Limited is waiting for me. I have to comprehend what to respond on receiving it. I may jot down or jet out some flowery words true to my feelings. But twenty years before, in the Hindi heartland, I was a retarded person as far as communication, with class five Hindi skills of just three sentences: ‘Ram ek ladka hein’ (Ram is a boy). ‘Sita ek ladki hein’ (Sita is a girl). ‘Kalam mein syahi hein’ (There is ink in the pen). And any better now neither! Ram and Sita are still continuing to be boy and girl respectively. But there is no pen with ink in it, as Engineers India is totally computerised. By the time I am ripe for the thirty year silver plaque, GOD, please BLESS me not to get reduced to a person affixing thumb impression on cheque books! -Sabu. J. Nair, 01sT February 2014.