January 6, 2012
The day started with a quick hospital visit. Rema aunty is recovering from a surgery couple of days ago. Anadiyil hospital is located within the city and is much more compact than the Lords hospital. On the corridor, framed paintings of various pioneers of healing in action: Aeschylus, Marion Sims, Lavoisier...
The trip from there to my aunt's house took me through Mulavana, Kunnukuzhi and Thamburamukku...memories of years of school bus rides to St. Thomas School. We went to aunt's house to deliver her share of the goodies that Ajith's parents had brought yesterday. It's part of a pregnancy related ritual, sort of a formal announcement from the husband's family to the wife's. A supply of murukku, munthirikothu, laddoos, pakkavada and neyyappam means I am all for continuing such traditions!
Achan was leaving for Bangalore today. Among other things that he planned to take for my sister were two bottles of 'Pinda thailam', an ayurvedic massage oil great for increasing circulation and relaxing muscles.
Parts of the Ambujavilasam road still bear resemblance of the 'agraharam' that it once was. Two or three houses open directly onto the street without any porch or verandahs even now.
'Kolam' on the three red steps leading to one of them.
The Dhanvantari Matam ayurveda center is at the end of this row of houses. The Matam was established in 1912 and had been flourishing in the 90s when I used to be a regular in this part of the city. Today the building wore a deserted look. I have never been inside this old two-storey building before.
Nobody at the counter.
A row of doors lead all the way to the back of the building.
Framed, garlanded photographs on top of each of the doors.
Half empty medicine cabinets with glass windows.
The solitary staff member showed up shortly.
"No stock of Pindathailam"
"What about Dhanvantaram kuzhambu (ointment)?"
"No, Sorry!"
"Will there be restocking soon?"
"The production has been stopped for four months now!"
"Wow...those are like the fastest selling products"
"Yes" he said wistfully,"there are some issues"
"What goes on upstairs?" I asked the question I wanted to ask since the days I used walk down this street to my aunt's place after alighting from the school bus at the last stop, Statue Junction.
"Used to be some lab work" he appeared distressed about the memories I was poking at.
We decided to check out the other famous ayurvedic business, Kottackal Aryavaidashaala, at Statue Junction. We took the narrow road that goes past the small Kallamman temple. Right after the temple, a morning traffic block.
Ford IKon versus Toyata Innova.
Both struggling to find themselves space beside a parked old white Jeep. A long tail of autorickshaws growing behind the Innova. Khaki-glad rickshaw drivers attempting to be traffic directors. Two-wheelers and pedestrians sneaking through the narrow gaps. All this din proving too much for the drunkard sleeping in front of a closed shop. The five minute gridlock finally resolved by the Ford turning into the drive-way of a home.
Homes around this area are living fossils of the different styles of residential construction in the city. Small tile-roofed ones, large tile-roofed ones sprouting wings in the cardinal directions, half-tiled and half-terraced homes, stubby terraced ones, two-storey flat topped ones...
A massive, beautiful, grand peepal tree bordering the road protected by a small Naga shrine. Turmeric powder adorning the stone hoods of the snake gods. A tiny shack selling joss sticks, wicks,oil and matchsticks right next to it.
Kottackal Aryavaidyashaala, established in 1902, is bustling with activity in contrast to the deserted Dhanvantari Matam. Computerised service. Framed, garlanded photographs of family heirs line the main wall. A few people waiting for delivery of their medicine. A young man in front of us in the queue doubts if the powder he has ordered has an expiry date.
"No expiry. It won't get spoiled," answers the sharp, long-nosed, broad foreheaded woman at the counter. She has a long vertical red streak instead of the bindi. Very sharp, very long nose, I must repeat.
"Then give me 50 packets. And the bill with name clearly. I am going to take them abroad."
Our order of Pinda thailam comes in two small plastic bottles of 200ml each.
I think I have already mentioned that the substitute care-taker of our grand old man neighbor is himself a 60 year old self-confessed fan of the bottle who talks about alcohol almost nonstop. "I cannot resist when I see the board of a toddy shop. I just have to go inside and have a drink," I have heard him say a couple of times.
I can relate to his sentiments. It applies to me and book stores.
Right next to Kottackal Aryavaidyashaala are DC Books and TBS books.
So in we went.
At TBS books, sloppy,sleepy, morning service. Achan found the Rs. 500 price tag on Pattom Ramachandran Nair's "Encyclopedia of Nairs" prohibitive. I picked up a collection of essays by Akkitham. "Kavitha oru valiya sathyamanu" (Poetry is a big truth) was an irresistible title. Achan got a Malayalam translation of Maxim Gorky's Mother for his Bangalore stay.
I asked for a copy of "Leg before wicket" a collection of Malayalam poems but they didn't have it. The billing took unnecessarily long.
At DC books upstairs, better luck with "Leg Before Wicket". Even better, I found a Malayalam translation of Dr. George Gheverghese Joseph's A Pasage to Infinity: Medieval Indian Mathematics from Kerala and its Impact. I had read the book from A&M's Evan's library. But at $40, it was a bit much to own. The Malayalam translation came at Rs. 140. That is roughly 1/20th of the American price tag to put it in mathematical terms.
'Leg before Wicket' contains 43 poems by Ajith, one of the promising contemporary poets. I read a glowing review of this collection recently in a weekly. Here's my translation, which does not do much justice to the original, of one of the poems.
The Day Before The Divorce
----------------------------------
In the kitchen we
two burners
smoldering
Pressure cooker on one
on the other, frying pan
Knives of words
Onions of history
blistering with each slice
On the bed we are
two pillows
In the garden
A rose watching the house
A hibiscus searching someone on the road
We
in front of others
the gate that comes together only to shut
pushing it open
a postman is awaited
on the terrace
hooked from heart
to heart
on an unbraided thread
dirty linen hung to dry.
No comments:
Post a Comment