The...rain

Rain wakes mixed feelings in me. Because, as a Keralite, my rain memories are very very rich. Some times, rather most of the times, the feelings are just beyond words!!

One pleasant memory of rain is of Francis, whom we friends most often call Panchi. This rain story goes back to my school days at Edappally, then a village like part of the Kochi city.
Myself and Panchi were studying in class five. The school was just reopened in June after vacations amid heavy rains.

In the morning I was eaagerly waiting for Panchi. Because we had many monsoon-entertainments like rain walking, boating (in the near by pond) etc...

It was almost ten 'o' clock and going to be the bell to begin another year (as I saw peon coming with a hammer to ring, rather beat the bell).

I saw Panchi coming by daring the heavy rains, no umbrella not even no school bag. He looked as if he was swimming in school dress.

Being a government school there were many friends who belong poor families and did not have a bag, umbrella or uniform! But Panchi was from a economically well off family.

In the afternoon, I could find the reason for Panchi's 'poor avtar.' His younger sister was in hospital. His mother had to attend his sister and was not at home. I suprised to hear it as the reason for him to come drowning in rain, without bag and lunch?!

He had two elder sisters, brother and relatives staying nearby only! It was revealation for me. The sudden temporary absense of his mother made him totally chaotic. Because he was under her caring shadow till that date.

And many days later I noticed he started coming smart again. Later I came to know that his sister got relieved and his mother is back at home.

Is it a rain story? Ya, it is story happend in a rainy June...I can still see Panchi ..coming ..as if he had a dip in the near by pond!!!

Julias.....I wish you peace

It was a rainy evening..almost eight years ago..I had been working, at that time with a content developer at Rohini, West Delhi in his office cum residence. I used to change bus at Wazirpur to Munirka..my nest then.

It was the post metro era!!

Once in an almost empty DTC bus in which I happily steped in from Wazirpur..I found a drinker...almost 55 years old staring at me. After taking his tickets he came to me and stared a bit before sitting besides me in the same seat.

Sooner..he asked me whether I belong to Kerala..on hearing my "yes," I saw his boozer-cheek turing pleasent ..he told me that he is also from Kerala..!!!it was quite surprising for me...He hardly looked like a 'Madrasi' (@ Dilli all beyond Nagpur are Madrasies..although now it is better).

To my more surprise he told me that he is from the same city where I born, brought up and dreamed - Kochi!!

He picked small pieces of memory to make me convinced that he is from Kochi!! He is a Kochi wala for name-sake..because he was forced to leave the city at the tender age of 10 after his mother's death and his father's re-marraige. His step mother used to beat him a lot.

The journey for the next 30 minutes where so touching that he told me that he now loves his father whom he once hated for re-marrying. With tears in in his eyes, he told me that "I returned once to Kerala but my father was no more then. I came back to Delhi by painfully seeing my stepmother residing in our house with her second husband and children."

You should have kick them out I said. He laughed a bit... "I was not just there for a piece of land." He never fought for that.

"Now my son is doing his small business and settled..my daughter was married off last year" he told me. But now I am alone as my wife who is a Delhite passed away..last month.

I am now alone in the city which gave me "life, ....thikhana." He cried to me beta "Main Keral vapas jana chahta hoon. Mujh ko vahaan ke mitti main marna hain."

I asked him why did you wish to leave the city where you built up your life, where your children live and your wife rests? The answer was silence..I could hear him mincing for words.."main..main kya jawab dedoom beta"

I remember I asked the same question to my uncle when he, who built up his own successful life in Mumbai, decided to come back after he turned 65. He answered, "the soil in which we born has some thing...which we can not find elsewhere".

But my uncle has his wife and we all, the realtives to care him. And he was a famous playwright...and he wanted to write a lot (that he did also).

But the man whom I met had no one in Kerala to lookafter him...nor he a writer!!!! Still he want to go back to the roots!!

Yes, he was drunk ..but it was not a drinker's..worry..I am sure. I could hear his heart.

After eight years..now..in 2008 I do not know whether he could go back to Kochi and stay there peacefully..nor I never met him again!!

Hohhh..I missed to tell you all his name..he was Julias.

I wish you peace Julias..whereever you may me....