🚀 go-pugleaf

 
   This is a repeat of the previous posting. Hope this
can be read meaningfully.



                   MEMORIES OF A TALAPOLI EVENING                           


                                   
    It was getting very late in the evening as the bus 
which I had taken from Triprayaar to Kodungallur slowly
inched its way through the festive and crowded streets.
The journey all the way from Kunnamkulam was tiring.
The feeling of numbness, being constantly tossed at the
whims of the bus driver at each sharp curve and his 
skillful manoeuvres in avoiding the most ominous looking
pot-holes had its effect in a sense of nausea. Added to 
that was the  constant thought that someone might want
to pick up a conversation spoting a ten year old kid 
travelling all by himself. The questions were always the
same mundane things one would normally ask a kid. Yet,it
bothered me all the more as it took effort on my part to
hide the fact that my Malayalam was at the most broken or
as my cousins often reminded me that I spoke like a chettiar.
Even as a kid I was no less conscious of my surroundings 
though I did not let it come in the way of enjoying such 
exchanges.

     
     
    As I alighted from the bus ,the surging crowds into the 
poorapamaba swept me along, with little choice I moved on
anxiously. It was not until later that I realised that I had
circumambulated the temple premises and was back where I had 
begun. All directional senses were lost on me and I quite 
reluctantly asked for help to get to Thekke Nada. The direction
offered me required cutting across Ambalaparamba into a walkway
lined on one side with ambassadors with the word "TOURIST" 
written in bold, and on the opposite an assortment of stores 
mostly clothes & textiles. A few yards down I could spot the
vertical board reading "Nalanda" in malayalam which I had 
pictorially committed to memory and was my destination. As I
heaved a sigh of relief, the thunder of the 'kathina' from
temple yard jerked me .However hard I may try this was 
something I could never avoid and to this day I find it hard
to forgive whoever had invented this form of offering to the
lords. Even when one is given enough prior notice ,the absence
of any form of spark or fire except the smoke and the upturned
shell after the explosion keeps you in suspension which I find
hard to accept.

    At Nalanda my uncle was waiting quite worried till he saw
me doddering with the heavy bag I had over my shoulders . He
mentioned that he had sent somebody to scout for me,a difficult
task for talapoli day but for my blue & white uniform and maroon
tie making me more conspicuous in the crowd. He said that the 
procession wouuld begin in another hour and that if I was hungry
he could get me something to eat. I devoured the rava dosa from 
'Arathi' which was delivered at my uncle's shop. Having regained
some energy I set about pestering Panickerettan with questions
about the procession. He was in his mid thirties, a jolly good 
fellow who singlehandedly took care of the printing press that
my uncle owned,and foremost of all was easily accessible with a 
constant smile which seemed plastered on his face and eyes deep
and bright. He would answer almost invariably in a few words or
sentences any query teasing me into believing his narration
which I did in any case with childlike faith.  

    Far away the din of excitement and the feverish beats of the
chenda could be heard. The light from the petromaxes relected of
the the glistening metal bedecked on the forehead of the 
caparisoned jumbos. I counted nine in the distance as I waited
anxiously for them to come closer to where I was perched. The 
panchavadyam got louder and my heart beat faster with music in 
my ears as I felt almost lifted to another world. I had earlier 
heard stories from my mother about the talapoli. Some infact 
pretty scary. There were incidents when in the past some elephant 
had run amok in town destroyed property and even killed it's 
brave and valiant mahout when he tried to calm the beast. 
Stories about one which had to be shot at the kottapuram kadavu 
after repeated attempts to get him back to the fold. I also 
believed that a panicky "madampottiya aana" elephant would never 
run forward, hence it was always safer to be in the front than the 
rear of a procession in case the worst happened. I wonder how I 
convinced myself of this simple safety precaution but it seemed 
assuring enough then.

    Bare chested the maraars had their chenda slung over their 
neck with thick white cloth twisted into rope and the mundu^ half 
a feet shy of their feet which probably gave them freedom to move 
quickly. Their hands playing the stretched leather in ectasy and
their bodies gyrated to the beats of their drums.There were also 
people playing the long flute 'nadaswaram'. But what got my most 
attention as a child was the 'nettipattam'. That gold plated 
ornament on an otherwise spartan body seemed an amazing piece of 
art. The bulbous decoration along the rim of the nettipattam in 
regularity and the central grooves and more minor work which 
escaped my eyes looked quite surreal.  There must be more to it 
than met my eye. At each stop of the procession there would be 
a show of gilt edged and multicolored 'kuda' and swift displays 
of white plume by the entourage atop the elephants. The synch-
ronisation and variations thereof gave a visual effect pleasing 
to the eye. The elephant at the centre carried the deity with 
the priest holding on to it, offerings being made at each stop 
along the 'ezhunnullippu'.

   As the procession moved forward and was almost out of my 
sight I realised that my eyelids were drooping, having roamed
around in guruvayur the entire afternoon with my Bethany seniors 
had taken its toll. I fell asleep on my chair and the colour and 
festivities continued in my dreams.


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   comments are welcome even though my feeble attempt donot
   reflect the high standards set by ACK veterans.
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