Chapter 4 - Classroom fiascos
(Last
para of Chapter 3: As if these were not
enough, he (my grandfather) organized
with the village Purohit to teach all the boys Rudram, Chamakam,
Purushasooktam, in a regular evening class, with Attendance Register, regular
tests and marks.
In retrospect, it is a pity
that I have lost touch with most of what I had learned, and my recitation is
now confined to just Vishnu Sahasranamam, at horse-race speed - in 20 minutes
from Shuklaam Bharataram… to Kaayena Vaacha... Here too a surgery a decade ago
had to intervene to trigger resumption.)
My maternal grandfather had a
great influence in my life. I never had the privilege to see my paternal
grandfather (Kunjanna). He died when he was 43 or 45 – even before my father
was married. Consequently, my father’s marriage had to be performed hurriedly
within forty-odd days of Kunjanna’s demise for the marriage to enjoy the status of having
been solemnized during his lifetime.
Kunjanna raised the family’s
textile business (identified as the ‘VKR’ family) to such heights that this
period came to be regarded as the golden age of the VKR with the main
operations in Palakkad, branches in Coimbatore, Eranakulam, Chennai, and
liaison office in Mumbai.
He was pious Hindu. He
performed Sahasra Bhojanam - feeding 1008 purohits, cleansing their legs,
giving them items ranging from agricultural land, house to live, cows, and ever
so many other things. It is a different thing that right now the descendents of
the purohit who got a house in the village still live there, while we check into
a hotel on each visit to Palakkad. But no regrets. Kunjanna a had done pada
pujai to Sri Kanchi Maha Perival, when he visited Palakkad. I am not sure if it
was during the same visit that the much-publicized meeting between Sri Maha
Perival and Gandhiji took place in the adjoining Nellissery village.
I don’t recall much of my paternal grandmother, since she too died
while I was in teens. All I remember is that after sunset I would come home
fully tired and hungry after playing cricket or football - all eager to munch
something. My mother would flatly refuse me, for it is not desirable to eat
anything during sandhi kalam (twilight).
On such occasions it was this grandmother who would bring me one Dosai or half Adai (already prepared for her early dinner), and stealthily stuff
into my hands. She was a sober lady and had never seen her talk loudly.
My maternal grandmother too had a great influence in my life. In the
late evening hours as we waited for our grandfather to return from court, via
the big bazaar with his cycle loaded with vegetables and grocery, my two
younger sisters and I would take turns to lie on her lap and listen to stories
from mythology. She was thorough with the subject, and was a ‘master’
storyteller – like most grandmas are in any household. Like the present day
Tamil serials, she knew exactly where to stop for the day, so that we would
hang on her lips for more of it at the next opportunity. Not only that, even
housewives from the adjoining homes would join the session on the pretext of
having a chat with her. I can’t recollect her having missed a single religious
discourse in town, though she had to foot a distance of 3 to 5 miles one way
with her asthmatic wheezing problem.
In later years when it became
my turn to transmit this knowledge to my children, I bought in bulk Amar Chitra
Katha, refreshed myself first with those stories as I directed children to
finish their homework - to bring in legitimacy to my action. Later, I had these
bound and stacked in books of 5 or 6, and lent them to friends and
relatives - never to get them back.
Back in school, as I moved to a
new class each year I got a new team of teachers. Sivaraman Nair, my Malayalam
teacher, was a sort of blow hot blow cold. Sometimes he would be very jovial
and witty; at other times serious. But he was good at teaching. Once, in the
quarterly examination he had asked us to write an essay on Kalpathy Car
Festival. In those days it was believed that the more the pages we wrote, the
more the marks likely to be awarded.
Weeks later, when he
distributed the answer papers with marks, I came for a rude shock. For a
four-page write up on Car Festival, he had awarded me only 3.5 out of 10. I got
furious and walked up to him and asked.
“Sir, how come you have given me such a low mark for a four-page
coverage. He was at his wit’s ends. “Have you read what you have written? You say, Vishwanatha Swamy therine ella janangalam kude
izu izunnu izuthu. What language is this izu izunnu izuthu? Malayalam, Tamil, or something of your
own?" I still gave you pass mark only because of your father. He allows me
to buy clothes from his shop on credit." All the boys - and more
important, girls – had a hearty laugh much to my discomfiture.
S.V. Subramania Iyer was impeccable in English. There was a ring
of authority in his diction, delivery and command over the language. He was a
devout Hindu. A sparkling three-line vibhuti
on his spacious forehead, thanks to his tonsure up to the middle-head and a
lustrous kudumi behind, augured his
entry to school. He and the Sanskrit Pandit were the only two teachers who
sported kudumi. Among the students too there were two – Sahasranaman (?) and
Kasi Viswanathan. And both had the good fortune to be the blue-eyed boys of
these two teachers.
It was an Active voice and Passive voice class. After explaining
the nuances, he summed it up saying that in passive voice you should say it the
other way round. He gave some examples, as I was busy trying to solve a jigsaw
puzzle. Then he said, “Rama killed Ravana.” Now make it into passive voice, and
pointed his hands towards me. I was totally unprepared. Just to prod me, he
said, yes, yes, just start it the other way round. And I said, “Ravana killed
Rama,” picking up the hint promptly. That was enough for his face to get red
with fury. “I know your family from both sides. You should be ashamed of being
part of such an illustrious family. I pity myself that I have to take classes
for such a bunch of pupils… Many students felt that his flow of English for the
next five minutes was at its best thus far. Not satisfied with the downpour, he
said he would share with my grandfather my English grammar level and audacity
to re-write Hindu mythology.
(To be continued…)
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