#5, Sankara Madam St - Chapter #1 - Jason Doctor
Written by Dilip Muralidaran on December 22, 2008 – 2:37 pm -I did a lot of things that required a doctor’s visit all of the time. Of course, being physically challenged means all the more useless doctor’s visits. Cerebral palsy is incurable, but that did not prevent my parents from trying. They tried real hard too. Yunani, Homeopathy, Allopathy and of course the ganapathy who resided on pavements all over the place.
Homeopathy docs did what they did, take the money and bullshit around. So did yunani. English medicine docs did some nice stuff. Made some considerable improvements to the way i walked and made my day better, however they did not predict the usual stuff that happens to cerebral palsy patients everyday and here i’m waiting for the d-day. Nevertheless, speaking of doctor’s reminds me of the very first doctor i saw in life.
Our family doctor, jason. Jason was the typical christian convert. Tall, dark, handsome and smart a doctor. However what made him so special was his medicines. Not only was his injections utterly painless but his medicines had something about them. I’m fairly convinced he believed that the disease must be fought from the inside. So whatever evil is inside, if it comes outside then the problem is outside of your body too?
I should have known better. His pills were usually huge. They were like the size of a jackfruit and somehow they always were stuck in your damn throat and made you throw up. Of course, the smell of it was so horrendous, you threw up even before you swallowed one. One thing though, the moment you threw up you felt better. The only drug that he prescribed often and that i liked was betnesol. Why? Because they were small tasty tablets and chewable.
You could take them to school, swallow one in front of the kids and tell them you are sick. Every enthu pattani kids will yell to the teacher, “miss, dilip is sick miss…!!!!” and the teacher would send me to the biology lab to take rest.
I would then lie in the biology lab and peep through holes in my hands/fingers that cover my face and live in the fantasy land of science and anatomy for the rest of the day. All class bunked, excused from homework, what else would one want as a school kid?
Dr. Jason unfortunately went to the United States. I assume his excellent interaction skills and wonderful professionalism took him places. Sometimes i just wonder what would have happened to me without Dr. Jason’s betnesol. Wherever you’re doctor, my well wishes are with you. Anything to escape that bloody math class. Who gives a shit about least common multiplier and highest common factor? yuck!!!
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#5, Sankara Madam St - Chapter #1
Written by Dilip Muralidaran on October 29, 2008 – 2:08 am -Memoirs of Desikachari Thaaththa and Kanakavalli Paatty
Continuing off the last post i start the story of my life with the first chapter.
As vaguely as i remember, my kollu paatty considered me as a re-incarnation of kollu thaaththa. Why? because i was born on the same thidhi as his thavasam comes, same natchathram and of course it seems apparently i had a line on my forehead like a thirunaamam that kollu thaththa would wear. Desikachari thaatha was my fathers, grandfather. His wife died and he re-married my kollu patty who did not have any kids with him. Possibly why kanakavalli paatty considered me to be more like her son than a grandson.
Desikachari thaththa was notoriously famous for his temper and arrogance and charisma, so was i, doubting the charisma part alone. I’ve never seen kollu thaththa but only kollu paatty. I’ve been told stories about kollu thaththa so much by family members i dont miss not seeing him, i have his picture and every event engraved in the form of stories in my mind for eternity. I was told how rich a family we were and the palace like house we owned in sabapathi street next to sembithamman kovil, before we sold it to marry out aunt’s. Thaaththa owned a bus service in ooty and our family people would arrogantly get on it and not buy a ticket and quarrel with the bus conductor. After 30 minutes of hassling they would reveal they were "owners" of the transport company to make the conductor pee his pants and salute adchify with a "saari saaar!" dialogue.
I was also told how thaatha knew every mesthiri and carpenter in town and addressed them derogatorily as "sudran" and called them as "dei thevdiya maa, inga va da, idha pannu da" kind of authority and they would tremble in fear at kollu thaaththa. I was also told after all the work done how kollu thaaththa would give the mesthiri or the carpenter twice the money he asked for or deserved, also buy him tiffin and tea/coffee from a nearby iyengar’s hotel. I was told how big a turban kollu thaaththa wore and how he was 7 foot tall and commanded respect from every person on the street and folks hushed "periya iyer’u varaaru" and wished him good morning/afternoon/evening when he walked by. He always walked, he never drove a vehicle and he always used the bus, railways and tram.
Kollu paatty considered me to be her world, probably. She could not call me ‘Dilip’ and she called me ‘dilli’ which sounded more like ‘delhi’ with a i instead of the e. She was very aachaaram and cooked for herself in her small kitchen and room dedicated to her which had a separate door too perpendicular to the main entrance door. She would ask me every morning which i distinctly remember "dilli, enna da samayal pannattum?" and i would blurt off random things from my cherished desires and i would have it in front of me in flat 60 minutes. Kollu patties thaval adai’s were an extacy. I swallow a lump down the throat as i think of her, she really made life so much worth living for and how a kid i was and never realized what i had in life. Of course, for evening tiffin again i would command "poori", "chappathi", "dosai" and every possible permutation and combination and i would have it. My brothers plea and my cousin (my widowed aunt’s son who lived with us) would sometimes try to intervene and ask for stuff but they never made the promised land to the best of my knowledge.
Finally, i distinctly remember this. All 3 of us, after every nights meal would go to kollu paatty and i was always first to be served in the line. Paatty would have a huge, yellow colour green leave’s designed "Dabur Chavanyaprash" bottle. She would take some ayurvedic white powder which tastes like menthol. This powder she purchased for herself and just for me. It was some sort of protien or immunity booster or whatever. My bro and cousin got just the teaspoonful of chavanyaprash while i got the nice tasting powder along with it too and vayathu yerichchala kottified for the other two, every day.
Kanakavalli paaty also had a wonderful bench cum bed which was cool to lay down on. After her demise this was used by the kids in the house as a place to sit and study. Kanakavalli paatty is no more, the house is no more. Dabur chavanyaprash brings them back to life for a brief few seconds every time i see one.
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#5, Sankara Madam St - Preface
Written by Dilip Muralidaran on September 16, 2008 – 2:23 am -There once lived a boy who was born into a lower middle class iyengar family that lived in a lowly place called perambur. He lived in an old house that had a tiled roof, the famous "ottu veedu" of those times in the early 80’s. The boy unfortunately had a condition called cerebral palsy which devoid him from walking normally. He did not care, he ran.
Once during a weekend most assumingly the boy carefully tip toed via the gate-less house of his and stood under the cool jasmine creeper. He was shrewd enough not to put his foot back or forward and was devising his plan of edging along the 1 foot wide platform that kissed the dirty 4 foot compound wall. There was sewer all around him and his house had a very small drainage system, which meant the first house to explode and leak sewer into small road in case of a drainage block, would be his.
As he excitedly looked at the ugly masses of human feces and other unknown and unidentified objects. His dad, a usual overtly strict iyengar fellow yelled "peeyila uzhundhu vaaranumnu kanganam kattindu irukka nee!" (you are determined to fall and wrap yourself in crap).
As the young boy moved along the platform his dad caught hold of his hands tightly and yelled again "odaadha" (don’t run), suddenly his eyes shifted to the other side of the road where he found another young boy, though much older than himself, devouring a packet of ‘biscuit thool’, something that he was denied moments ago before he left the house because he was about to visit the doctor. Biscuit thool is nothing but left over crumbles of biscuit, cake and cream in a bakery that is packed and was sold for less than Rs. 2 in those days.
The boy looked at the other kid, his legs were thin like as if the entire life juice had been sucked out of it with a straw, by the Devil. He had polio. The young boy smiled and said "nondi" (lame) and before he could realize "THHWAACK!" came a blow on his head.
Before he could lift his hand to rub his head that hurt if had been smashed with a rock, his dad retorted. "Nee maththrum enna?" (what are you?)
That moment, it dawned upon him, he was different.
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An Autobiography on short stories…
Written by Dilip Muralidaran on September 15, 2008 – 3:02 am -I’ve been watching a long lost friend of mine from my previous workplace on facebook from the recent past. It’s been such a pleasure and awesome experience looking at someones life through images from 1000’s of kilometres away.
Combing that thought with the fact that i now have a post arthritic condition and the quality of my life and the certainty of being independent is at great risk i felt that i should document my life more effectively. I don’t really know why, perhaps im every bit of that attention freak or perhaps i want to leave my mark and i realize i haven’t really made much difference till date.
Starting today, i will try and post atleast one short story every week or more than one. This will be either from a first person point of view or from a author’s narrative point of view. I’m not really aiming for factual accuracy here much but i hope im correct on the incidents by atleast 90% of the time. What i attempt to do here will be to recollect snapshots of my childhood, from the earliest known times that i remember myself as an existing individual on planet earth and then go on with short stories and incidents and events in my life.
I will post these under the title #5, Sankara Madam St., which is the address of my old house, where i grew up and lived till about 21.
All person’s, events and facts gathered under this posting label are true and accurate to the best of my knowledge. Names shall not be changed, events shall not be toned down or pepped up to either sound acceptable.
So without further adieu, the first chapter will be up tomorrow. As for the intro, watch out for the next post.
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