LINEAGE-FICTIONAL SKETCHES

LINEAGE FICTIONAL SKETCHES

Madathil Narayanan Rajkumar

CONTENTS

1 Meetings 2 Uncle’s House 3 C.15 4 Bugs

1 Meetings

His room was in a glass cabin camouflaged by drapes. The aide was announced about my arrival and when he read my name scripted on the small piece of paper, I could see through the hazy glass slides, his convulsions, which was impossible for him to bury. The doorman and his wife talked for a few minutes before granting me an audience to the prince crown. How could they abnegate my seeing him, his only cousin living now? And think further, his mother and my mother had the best possible kinship between two sisters.

2 Did I descry the jounce in his eyes and the acedia of handshake when I introduced myself to them? I had all the shabbiness and the ill look of a merry andrew and that odd strabismus which set me out from any rout.

Sometimes it was my carapace to keep away from unwanted company.

Sometimes it was to my dolor that people took it as their apanage to disavow or delay those things that I merited.

There was a surplus of mosquitos in the room, that were crowding to hit the people at uneasy interludes making their shanks swollen and black. I had my name written on a slip that another man Friday, maybe a more trustable one accepted and handed over to Damo, my cousin the royal prince and future king. From childhood, we disliked these subterfuges, those trivial squabbles over things that are not permanent and in the hasty grabbing of it, man acquires more covetous qualities. Damo also had the same sentiments, maybe in a more intense way and he never sought the throne, neither for its own sake nor for any private gain in future. But circumstances were wrought in such a fashion that he had to accept the wand of the prince.

When we met, he sobbed. He called my name and cried like a kid. I too cried. Perhaps he was reminiscing my mother or his own mama or those happy years of childhood, free from concern and craftiness.

3 What is his life now? Who loves him now in a genuine way? Does his wife have that passion of youth and loves him from the depth of heart?

Can he, who is no less than a bundle of bones, love her with equal strength of body and spirit? From the plethora of sycophants who surround him and waste his time, can he with all the sharpness of mind distinguish the true one? Not likely. His cousin called my name and said

that he is the luckiest of guys to see him today. He will mark this very day in his diary with the picture of roses drawn in it.

Damo stayed at the lower storey of the mansion and Vasetta, who was focusing on the cases at Fort's court, lived in the other room. There were two stairs. One led to his room. The cabin contained many woollen blankets and a good collection of chicken feathers that he used as earbuds. The other stair went to the private kitchen, where he dined at a tiny table, sitting on an archaic chair and experiencing his own culinary talents. Camunni who came recently after seeing the circus in the town was charmed by the artistes. He never had ladies in tight fitting and fashionable attires. He was the boy enlisted by the family to support the cows. It was a demanding job. , 4 Damo was partially deaf and we did not know the real reason. Once when at college we went to Komballur toddy(country alcohol brewed from palm trees) shop in the company of Venetta and three others.

Damo brought us back in his car which he gave out sometimes as a private taxi ... We stayed in the two sections of the traditional building.

Late at night, the lights shone in his mini Alexandrian library. Volumes from Plato to ‘Swapnavasavadattam’, half-read and scattered throughout the room, which the librarian organized in the morning hours. Damo probably perused it all. From where did he get energy for all this? His understudy was discussing another treatise he had learned. Some people in the costumes of the assistants came and went. They silently lit the cigarettes in the cell on the corner which served as the closed reference section.

Damo's plaguey behaviour upset some who were fair to treat him according to his stature. Hey, he had his moments without power.. In front of a group of young people, he tried to say something close to his heart that the general public thought silly and inopportune. Meanwhile, Bacchus has whelmed him. The children wanted to get back their father, but it was too late and the disease had spread to another organ ...

5 What should I say my dear friends..only that this Damo no longer exists now? He was more than a brother and more than a friend to me. When I was away from him, I never felt his absence. Yes, they say that true friends can communicate with each other in the same way as when they are on a sofa. Time and distance are illusions as many before I have declared. Love is very strange. Love is so real.This my dear Damo knew too. But I must admit now that I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.

In fact, I'm not interested ...

Now his wife, the sad lady enters the cemetery to praise her life partner.

To return to her best positive self. To capture once again that intimacy and her veil flutters in the north wind. It is a pure waste of time. Not a necessary labour as Damo's friends told each other. Maybe she can have that feeling by staying alone in a cell with no sadder thoughts to bear. She now quotes my dear brother Damo that in life, every moment is a full flower and you being the gardener who told you to steal a flower and take pride in that… …………... .

2 -Uncle's House My uncle stayed in the country. The house was an eight structured edifice of traditional type that was once common in old times. It could accommodate several families and usually, siblings or cousins ​stayed with their families even after the wedding. The atmosphere of these families was very cooperative and almost all the problems could be

solved very easily thanks to the mutual help of the parents. Later, families began to separate and the children became more egocentric, unlike earlier eras when group pursuits were quite common.

My aunt taught me philosophies, and my uncle was very competent in this field, even though he had other interests such as music and football.

He was a regular guest to the Europa League. When I was in grade two, my aunt insisted that I take notes from Heidegger's ‘Being and Time’and Sartre's ‘Being and Nothingness’, telling me that it would at least improve my thinking skills. Although it did not make me exceptional, I scored higher on the terminal exam than the previous year and qualified for a scholarship.

My aunt was such a good storyteller that she told stories to a filmmaker because she loved to share stories, and this gentleman did many shows, based on the stories told by her and some became hits This filmmaker was a distant cousin to me. My uncle was also great in philosophical debates and was a good orator and crowd puller, but stayed away from politics and devoted his energy to crafts and music. He is groomed in the traditional Indian fashion, with a profuse kurta and a loose garments, very easy and pleasant when sitting or walking in the garden, but difficult while crossing the highways because the transports will not respect the virtue of your raiment.

In the town, we stayed, we could not foretell from what direction the wind would blow. A middle- aged gentleman of our town who was a physician had roaring practice and he would often forget to close his rear door when he started driving the car and passers-by must cringe.

Nevertheless, he had flourishing services in the hospital, and because of his expertise and absorption, many had secondary seasons. I stayed at my uncle's house for two years when my father was abroad and my mom, one of his associates in the creation and she was a fabulous illustrator who could depict landscapes, although I did not acquire any of her expertise. I was mainly inspired by my aunt, who was the head of the state of our miniature estate and Prince Damo who was my relative would be the next leader when he reached the age. My aunt and uncle were friends of course but no one grabbed it after several years because the wedlock was arranged in secret because my uncle did not want to

provoke his father who was a doctrinal person. At that time, my uncle was always wearing a grey woollen sweatshirt and during the football days - he was just ahead - he was wearing blue sweaters. when rolling, he used hovding, rather than the helmet and still used a Tesla Model S during the tour. He had strange hairstyles as if he belonged to a subculture. When they were classmates, they met at Robin Hood Gardens and talked for hours, and although the friendship began innocently and in a studious way, it ended by getting married. When I think of the romance of my uncle and aunt, I often find with a smile, the quote of Kafka in America, in a portrait of Karl Rossmann that all relations with a woman, even the most philosophical, end in bed. Some may deem this as a flippant remark, but at least in the case of my uncle and aunt, it was true. My aunt told my wife that it was at the steep climb to Darley Street, Bradford, that he told something very intimate. She was striving to finish the climb and rest and at that second, had few concerns for the future. But finally, the wedding took place. …………

3 - C-15 This is not just the story of C-15. This is also the story of my father, mother, uncle, sister and myself. Our humble but decent stay in the N.G. quarters at district.C-15 is the name of the house. It is not a name to be exact. The N.G. quarters which consists of about a hundred houses are divided into four categories according to the grades of the non gazetted officers to whom the house is allotted. My mother was a division clerk in the Agricultural Department in the State government. because of this, she was eligible to get the quarters. She got the c grade of the quarter.

The quarters are of four levels-b,c,d, and e. After three years of our stay in the quarters, we purchased ground and then constructed a small dwelling in the nearby stretch. We sojourned in this house at C-15 for about three years. N.G. colony, as the whole setup is known, stands at a small hillock, elevated from the usual land and the place is stunning and you get a good glimpse of the enclosing neighbourhoods. The

hillock is not very high. You can reach there by a walk from all the sides of the colony and the small zigzag paths are lovely and melodious when the interstate wind blows. The district is known for its incessant symphony of wind since it is on the eastern fringe of the state and the western ghats form an aperture in this area which in local dialect is called charm. So the wind trumpets on and off, particularly during the October and November months.

The quarters are a harmonious community of non gazetted officers.

When we were staying there the secretary of the club of the members of the community who stayed was a distant relative of my father. He was very close to our family. My father was in the National Movement, in the origin, but later he left the group but kept contacts with his old buddies.

He was a person of many salutary features. The first and foremost was that he will never tell a lie. I have not seen my father telling a lie in his whole life. And at moments when he has to tell truth, and an unpalatable truth, he will avoid the situation graciously and later such friendships, but in case not tell a lie. He was a very understanding father and also a good friend to others, especially people who are less fortunate. in life. He has helped a lot of people, but he never made a show of it. This was not just the quality of my father, but also the quality of some of his friends at that time.

The quarters was like a big family where every family will cooperate for the well-being of the other. Since it was a community of lower-middle-class people who did not have a lot of money but a good amount of decency, it was generally a happy setup. There was the occasional misunderstanding among some members, but the matter was resolved amicably. When Mr V. N. was the secretary of the club, he took a deep interest in the welfare of the families and the club bought. Carrom boards, Chessboard, and a playing cards room and there was also a library that contains good books, but mostly Malayalam novels, and some good biographies.

My uncle from my mother's side also stayed with us. He used to take part in family entertainment. One of the frequent guests of our house was Sivaraman maman[Sivaraman uncle], a small radical of about thirty years. My father and he will engage in political and cultural discussions.

He knew some cultural heroes personally as my father knew. The house was sometimes a discussion table. my uncle always had conservative views and we had a special play of dice at home. The play sessions were most lively. Sivaraman maman[uncle sivaraman] had a special mantra to get the right dice- 'Om Sundara bale, Gandhara Mohini, pattudutha Parama yogini, nee vettuduthu vilayadi varika' - [MeaningOm-most beautiful damsel girl, the one belonging to the most seductive Gandharva clan, the yogini, who has reached the ultimate station in spirituality, such is dressed in pure silk clothing, you please enter playfully here, wearing the garment of light]. My uncle had another mantra-'Kol mina, gentle mina, deebrak, salladi baa.' About my uncle's mantra, I don't know its exact translation. Maybe, it is a cryptic mixture of some dialectical tongues or some crazy imaginary stuff of the drunkards of his youthful company. I learned both the mantras, but still, there was no certainty of anybody getting the correct dice. It was just fluke. The dices and frolics vanished in time, but not the memories and the redolence of my mama's fish curry suppers after the events. , ……………………………..

4- Bugs This story encompasses many other secondary stories, kinds of reflections that have relevance to my growth or destiny. It is focused on my stay of two years in the capital of the southern state of India known for its palm trees and mountains and the Arabian Sea which attracts many memories of Jews, Saracens, and other travellers.

My stay in the capital town lasted for two consecutive years, though I visited this place whenever got free time. And our family friend who was my local guardian was a notable cultural figure and he was my dad's friend of his youth and thanks to the lovely gestures of mutual esteem in that era. When I left the hometown, this gentleman saw me off at the omnibus station, giving his wife a letter of introduction to furnish me a place in his family till I got a room in the hostel. I was very independent at the time and had always preferred to stay in hotel rooms to disturb

others. You see such romantic fascinations are shed in course of time.

He said, 'It's a request' Quite a grand gesture considering his station in the social circles. This phrase floored me due to the humility and openness of words and also the fact that it was from such a man who did not forget his old companion.

After my initial stay in hotel rooms, I went to his house by presenting a letter to his wife, a professor, a doctor and a sagacious lady. And further, after cycles, I was fortunate enough to keep a long correspondence with her through letters with this remarkable lady, until her death. In this house everything was in a socialistic way, they practised what they preached. For example, the youngest daughter will address the eldest by her name, which was taboo in my family. And again after the breakfast or meal, you have to carry the empty plates to the kitchen sink, because it is socialistic to do so, as women have to be valued properly. In my village, the ladies will take the empty plates and men will sit chatting in easy chairs. Quite, feudalistic from their point of view. These two years, I was practically at owe seeing how elegantly and thoughtfully ladies moved and talked, many times it was reminding of the quote from Middlemarch about Dorothy“When one sees a perfect woman, one never thinks of her attributes―one is conscious of her presence� (page-413).-George Eliot Yes, I saw many Dorothy symbols in those two years, D.S. and S. and some others.

In the first year, I was an earnest student. Very serious in the sense that I reached the university library in the first opening hours and left it toward the close, around eight at night. Meanwhile, I will have my modest meal at a nearby restaurant or the M.L.A. Quarters canteen, where legislators dined and the lunch was accessible to anyone on a reduced rate. This custom extended until my professor warned that I cannot dodge the classes and remain in the archives. So I modified the pattern to make many hours for the classes too. During the second year, the reverse happened. I was plunged into student union activities and was chosen to the student departments union, as a nonpolitical nominee. I had less time to study, unlike the inaugural year where I was absorbed in volumes.

The inn was marvellous. My room was No. 232 towards the farthest row on the second floor and it overlooked a church and from there village spectacles abound. The sun was a welcome presence and the wind never ceased tooting and during rainy days, the water would splatter to the balcony and we will chat sitting in the room. Very temperate and delightful discussions about nearly everything in life.

Eventually, my room became a rendezvous for intellectuals and also some smokers, which made the air uneasy.

I was transformed more into a public property for the first time in life.

Although it has some sort of charm, raising a small ego, which we might have craved them. My 'Advanced Learner's' Dictionary' that was treasured as scripture, someone took without my permission, and I was forced to forgive and it was slightly tough to pass the days without the lexicon.

In the final year, I was astounded to notice that I grasped nothing about the syllabus, either English or American. I had already skipped the first year university review, supposing I will write both the years concurrently, and this turned out to be a mammoth business by all measures. I had read only a few of the original texts and the manuals were too many.

Everything was arrayed in such a shape not making me likely to finish the course in the forthcoming seasons.

The examination was fast approaching. There is only one month left. I took a room in the city centre because the boy who ran the ice cream cafe was on the ground floor and he helped me get the room. I took the room without the knowledge of my friends, except my close friend, B. because I did not want to be hypocritical to my friends, and told B. to inform them that my stay is private only for a month, and I will eventually see them when the ordeal is over.

I bot a humble room with a small table and a small wooden chair and a humble bed and spread.

I purchased big packets of books, all fresh, and started reading. Original titles and accessory guides. My intelligent friends often avoided guidebooks and to be seen in this condition was probably miserable.

One day I stood by the window of the room to get the glimpse of the city.

Because it's a good sight and a nice day and the air is probably rich, I

can't help it otherwise. Suddenly my eyes met a senior student's face, and he was probably shocked to see me there.

But I did not see him later in life. He might have taken another route.

There were classics of all kinds, Thomas Browne, Chaucer and Thoreau and Joyce. And, sometimes, the guests from other rooms went to the common shower, as these guests could not afford the private shower in the room with the services. And I was one of those. It was like heavenly beings come from another sphere and we meet accidentally at the peak of the night, look at each other for a second and part for the rest of the life. An angelic interruption to studies. Those were clearly an expressive pair of big eyes. The attraction of eyes is quite ironic. As the year's pass, you seem to be more fascinated by the teary ones than the big ones since the former have more points to share with you. Still, it is only a likelihood. On the bed, there was a batch of bugs. Nay, my mattress was the zoo of fresh bugs eager to quash me to their refreshing entertainment. This blend of classics, bugs, and a young man is a masterful collage. But I had to justify my stay and for the rest of the day's found myself immersed in these classical routes. Despite all the preparations, I did not do well. The burden was pretty heavy. I wrote three papers and then cancelled.

In those days, you can cancel the examination at your own discretion and you will not be, I hope, additionally burdened. You just have to write one more time and clear it. I went to the museum park. While I was sitting on one of the benches, a senior scholar who belonged to another discipline, a nice human being, met me. When asked about the exam, I said that I have cancelled. Although he did not exhibit any signs of shock, I discerned that he was sorry at my lot. I have not seen him for the rest of my life. I penned a lengthy letter to my parents, full of contrition for my stupidity and asked their forgiveness. They readily forgave me, as they had done in many larger issues in later scaffolds of life. What a treasure a parent's heart is.

After a generation, I was to sit in the same plaza in one of those benches, trying to relive the despondency of a young man.

The place was the same. Maybe the same seat or something similar to it. The arrangement may have evolved. I assume I nearly relived the

deep affections of a young man and meanwhile, my parents have gone to another kingdom. ...................................................