Growing up, there were a few adaptions of the brain which was never reasoned, and one of it was my belief or conviction that life revolved only around “God Almighty” for anyone in the religious fraternity.
As kids we were all asked not to make noise, talk loud, run around or have the one and only Philips transistor of mine tune to any of my favorite program, chalachithra ganangal, laltiha ganangal, VOA (Voice of America), when the priests came home.
My experience with Thirumeni Appachen was very different, he enjoyed music and playing the LP records of Dasettan and others in the gramophone, he would discuss the songs, and how the records were made.
Later when I studied Physics for Pre-Degree, I started analyzing the relationship between velocity, speed and sound from the records while the needle ran through the groves.
I cannot help wondering on a daily basis the intricate detailing of our ancestors inventions, which I take so much for granted. The paper clip to the LP record. I could write volumes of every single item I use on a daily basis and my life’s story around it.
Thirumeni made me enact my monoacts mostly written by me. He was so humane, he took time to discuss my studies and go through the text book and notebooks. He was the first principal of Mar Ivanios College at Trivandrum. I will never forget his thoughts on my handwriting. He said my writing revealed my state of mind. Whether I was waiting to run after a mischief or stay at ease. Those days life stopped within the limits of School and Home, either being naughty or quiet.
We had elaborate discussion on my Amma’s frequent attack of Asthma which was quite heart breaking to watch. Sometimes I felt it was more traumatic to watch an Asthma patient struggling for breath than the patient who is having no breath.
Amma used to get frequent attacks of Asthma every single time the Cashew Factory near my home started roasting the cashew nuts. Thirumeni discussed in detail the various reasons that caused Amma’s ailment and asked Appa and Amma to meet him at the Bishop’s House in Trivandrum, as soon as he returned.
In the morning we paraded the yard, every inch of our property was utilized in some form or the other. I can map every corner of my home, perhaps like the google map through the lens of my mind.
The first stop was by the cloves plant, we had 13 cloves plant; it was roughly 7 to 8 mts in height and took the shape of the Christmas trees, conical in shape, and the cloves were all over. The plant was lush green.
My very first lesson of sustainable farming was given by Thirumeni. We walked to the first clove plant which was just by the side of the outhouse where the printing press was, next to the irumban puli/ bilimbi puli, he asked us to get all the thondu (coconut skin) we had at home. I feel a bit odd to say coconut skin, as skin is so thin in my mind and this one is so thick and fibrous with a smooth hard surface which washes any water that falls on top and the inside husk holds the water like a sponge. This is exactly why I say English is a funny language especially when I try to translate and express my thoughts from my mother tongue to English.
We were asked to line the thondu around the cloves plant starting from the center trunk in circles and then line them to a diameter of 1 meter and water was poured less frequently after checking the demand, this prevented any evaporation and kept the bottom of the plant and the roots wet all the time.
So much so about the cloves….
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