A vacation

As with all vacations at home after college, I have been enjoying this one too from stem to stern. My visits usually were of two weeks, twice a year; a complete getaway from office work. I curiously got involved in chitchat with my mom; earning the latest updates on our neighborhood, childhood friends, recent developments in town and so on. My little sister and I engrossed in amusing discussions about our neighborhood teenagers’ love lives. A regular practice in my vacation has been eating up all delicious traditional cuisines prepared by my mom; she preserved a lot of seasonal varieties too like jackfruit chips, dried tapioca, jackfruit cake, salted wild mangoes, pickles and a lot more. Sitting down in our verandah with a cup of tea and crunchy jackfruit chips, saying Hello to all the passersby in the front walkway gave me the best sense of tranquility.

I spent hours in the afternoon swimming in the river nearby. It’s been a real fun since my childhood days. The river which bore the name of our town ran along the southern border of the village separating it from the jungle beyond, and it flew by the backyard of the house across from ours. A scenic beauty which pulled me into it’s unspoiled solitude! My friends from college found it hard to believe when I told them about my swimming sessions in the river, so never took a chance with my friends at work; they only knew that I swam.

To the left of our compound was a rubber plantation. One thing I never noticed as a child but discovered over the course of time was the beauty when it rained in the rubber trees especially a sunshower in the late spring. And, the morning rays of sun sieved through the dense roof of trees. Everything looked more enchanting than earlier, after I became an infrequent visitor.

My mornings in vacation usually started late. The cold drizzle in the early morning made it harder to leave bed today. Resisting the temptation of snuggling under the blanket, I got up and walked into kitchen to make myself a tea – a warm and cosy cup of tea as the welcoming first step. Mom was in the kitchen work area making preparations for lunch. She kept complaining about the rising vegetable prices in recent times while peeling drumsticks before her on the table.

Pouring tea into a cup I asked her about the church bell on that morning. About 50 meters down the street stood an old church of a community; they followed a custom of ringing bells in a peculiar fashion on occasions of wedding, funeral or any such ceremonies of their members. It worked as kind of an announcement usually.

“Mom, whats special today in church?”

Soon came reply.

“Ohh I forgot to tell you – you remember Kunjappu? It’s his daughter’s wedding today.”

How could I not remember Kunjappu!!?

Taking my tea I walked towards the front verandah, instead of joining mom how I usually did. I sat down on the chair taking a sip from the cup, waving one hand to an uncle across the street. Thinking on what mom just told, I was plunged deep into a pool of memories where I turned into a 7 years old little girl as the years flashed back, playing and roaming around those very courtyards and verandah; a little girl who flitted like a butterfly fluttering around the flowers. On most of those days she spotted Kunjappu in the street walking past her house very fast. Torn out cloths, unevenly buttoned shirt, bare feet and uncombed hair made his appearance very odd. Nobody could say whether he walked or ran; it was somewhere in between. After a half hour or so, he marched back too even faster. She watched him every time until he diminished from her sight. She wondered what he whispered on his way and back, and where he was headed to.

Kunjappu used to be a famous one in the locality especially among young children and more importantly he was the one to be accredited for being the reason kids in our area finished up their food, took bath on time or went to bed early, for their mothers lied to them that Kunjappu would take them away and remove their eyes to make them beggars in a city far and far away; a simple trick played to mould their kids into well-mannered ones when Kunjappu remained oblivious to the fact that his innocent wide grin was making a child behave!! But to her, maybe as her mother was not one among those mothers, she thought that she had shared a bond with Kunjappu. He seemed happy grinning at her each time; probably on account of the only smile he got back on that very day! She waited for his rounds on the street when other kids hid themselves away by a glimpse of him itself, because she had finally figured out who kept treats in their Newspaper box at the gate – a ripe mango, some blackberries or a few rose apples sometimes. A secret which stayed just between the two of them. Whenever she tried to talk to him he seemed in such a hurry that he set out on a walk in the midst of a crucial work.

It took a few more years for her to understand what a mentally challenged person meant and that piece of information was painful. As she grew up, the less she met Kunjappu; not sure whether she spent less time outside or Kunjappu did less rounds. Frequency of the Newspaper box treats reduced and came to a halt slowly. It was on their way back from school one day, her older sister stunned her with a revelation! Pointing to a thin, tall girl her sister asked.

“Do you know that girl?”

She had never seen that girl in their neighborhood or at school. She shook her head.

“That’s Kunjappu’s daughter.”

She widened her eyes at her sister, baffled! It kept nagging her all their way home and for many days which followed. She revolved around where Kunjappu would be taking his daughter on weekends, what present he would be giving her on Birthdays and a lot many thoughts. And, she wept for no reason; or maybe for a clear reason that she couldn’t imagine her father being a ‘Kunjappu’.

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The last time I heard about Kunjappu was a couple of years ago that he was admitted into a mental health care center. People had forgotten him it seemed, including me. But today, I experienced an outpouring of joy, picturing Kunjappu walking his daughter down the Aisle with a big smile on his face. I called out to kitchen.

“How’s Kunjappu now?”

No reply. I turned over my shoulders.

“Mom, did you…” I paused, mom was coming out of kitchen.

“He died 2 years ago in a mental asylum.”

I turned my face away, sat quietly for a while with a vacant gaze into the distance. I knew my eyes were welled up and they reflected the glaring images of a father and daughter in the Aisle. With my moist, blurry eyes I struggled to identify the old man who waved at me from across the walkway. I lifted my hands vaguely to wave him back!

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