O. V. Vijayan: My
Childhood Memories
Kabani Mary Alex*
In
tribute. A young friend’s warm narrative
on the occasion of O.V. Vijayan’s first death anniversary.
Email: alxgeorge@yahoo.com
I was just five years old when I
met O V Vijayan, the famous Malayalam writer and cartoonist for the first time.
Before taking me to his residence at Secunderabad, my parents had briefed me
thoroughly as to how I should behave at his place. They told me that he was a
great writer and warned me against interrupting them during the conversation.
The Vijayans received us with great warmth. I got lot of attention
in the beginning. Then they started talking with my parents. I had to remain
silent. When coffee was served, there was chocolate for me and Vijayan uncle.
The conversation lasted for over an hour. I was listening keenly. There was no
talk on stories or literature. Were my parents lying to me ? I wondered. When
uncle patted me on my shoulders while leaving, I couldn’t resist that question.
“ Do you write stories, Uncle?” I asked
him. He just smiled – that exuberant smile! In reply he asked me; “Molku
pambine ishtamano?” ( Do you like
snakes?). I shuddered. All the liking I had developed for this frail, warm
uncle over an hour eroded that moment. Everybody else in the room laughed
aloud. Somebody commented on Ravi
embracing the snakebite in Khasakkinte Ithihasam. I didn’t understand
anything. One thing I was sure - I don’t like this man.
Later in the night, my parents
tried to console me by talking about uncle’s childhood. One day while his
mother was having her afternoon nap, he sneaked into the backyard of the house.
There he met a cobra in the mud. They looked at each other curiously for some
time. In excitement, the cobra raised its hood and danced. A delighted Vijayan
ran to the house to tell his mother about his new friend. The snake followed
him to the house. His terrified mother pulled him inside the house, closed the
door and called out to their workers for help. Vijayan started praying for the
snake… My parents tried to explain to me that uncle might have travelled back
into his own childhood for a moment, interacting with me. Yet, I was not
convinced.
Next time, my parents had to force me a lot to accompany them to
Vijayan uncle’s house. This time he was very careful. No disturbing questions
any longer. That warm smile, chocolates and gentle pat on my shoulders won over
me.
We started visiting the Vijayans very frequently. Teresa aunty used
to make the return visits to our house occasionally. Uncle had his health
problems and she had to take care of him. The hours long conversations used to
focus on current socio-political issues and very rarely on books or Thalamurakal,
the novel on which he was working at that time. Naturally, I never had anything
to contribute. I used to wait till coffee was served to break my school news.
Chocolate, ice cream or any sweet - it was mainly meant for me and uncle. We
were the chocolate loving children among the five. He started sending small
gifts to me through Teresa aunty - colouring books, books on nursery rhymes,
story books etc. Uncle used to draw his famous cat with a human face on the
first page of these books for me. Even though, I used to draw and paint in
those days, I never drew or painted anything for him. That might have put him
off. Chocolates continued to come.
One day, when aunty and my mother had to go somewhere urgently, they
left me to the care of uncle. It was the age when I had developed a liking for
Veerappan and Osama Bin Laden. Veerappan for his ferocious moustache and Osama
for his lovely beard and the many wives and children he has. As newspapers and
TV channels used to come up with more and more stories on them, I found two
heroes in them. I wanted to know whom uncle liked more - Veerappan or Laden? He
didn’t give me a straight answer. Instead, with his warm and encouraging smile,
he prodded me to talk more nonsense. I had a suggestion to put forward.
Announce an offer of Kollathile Ammachi’s Meen Achaar (my maternal
grandmother’s fish pickle). When they
come to taste it, they can be caught hold of. Uncle readily agreed to this
suggestion. I felt elated. I promised to bring a bottle of Ammachi’s delicious chemmeen
achaar for uncle next time. What all nonsense I spoke to him for over four
hours that day! Later uncle told Teresa aunty that I was simply irrepressible
that day.
As I learn Carnatic music, the Vijayans forced me to sing for them
one day. I rendered a Malayalam keerthanam. He listened to it with
smiling appreciation. He wanted Teresa aunty to fish out their old collection
of Carnatic music cassettes and gift a few to me.
Soon, he fell sick. He was on ventilator for about a month in August
– September 2004. The visits to Care Hospital, Banjara Hills were sad for me.
His health improved gradually. The last time I saw him was when my parents took
me to his Marredpally residence, a couple of days before X’mas 2004. Teresa
aunty cut the X’mas cake for all of us. A very small piece was given to uncle
who was on nasal feeding. As usual the conversation was on current issues -
this time the arrest of Swami Jayendra Saraswathi of Kanchi Kamakoti. When my
father remarked that a few Bishops and Moulavis should also be put behind the
bars, uncle signalled to aunty for his notepad and pen. Suddenly he realised
that he couldn’t even scribble. He felt sad and withdrawn. It was difficult for
him to speak in the last few years of his life.
Again he became ill in March 2005. He was hospitalised for around a
month. On 30th March 2005, when I returned home in the noon after
giving my annual exam in Maths, my parents telephoned me from his residence and
informed me that the body was already flown to Kerala. They asked me whether I
felt sad that I couldn’t see him for last. In fact, I felt relieved. I didn’t
have to see his dead body.
A few days after his death we attended a tribute to O V Vijayan paid
by a multi-lingual literary group in Hyderabad. There were readings from: After
the Hanging and Other Stories, The Saga of Dharmapuri, The Legends
of Khasak, Infinity of Grace and Selected Stories. From the The
Legends of Khasak, the chapters: “The First Lessons” and “The Conversion”
were read out. Appu-kili, Spiders and Story of Karma were interesting to
me. I laughed a lot listening to the chapter on conversion. The lice in
Appu-kili’s hair knots and the Aryan invasion, the ‘Hindu-Muslim’ Appu-kili,
everything in this chapter arose laughter. I wept listening to Vellai Appan’s
and Kandunni’s fate. Later the original Malayalam version of the story Kadaltheerathu
was read out to me by my parents on a train journey.
The cassettes which uncle wanted to gift me were given to me by
Teresa aunty a couple of months after his death. When we met her at her
residence on her return from Kerala after the cremation, I hoped for some time
that the frail, smiling Vijayan uncle would emerge from their bedroom any time.
My parents tell me that I have not come of age to read his novels.
Uncle knew it better. My name was never included in the autographed author’s copies
of most of his books, which he had gifted to my parents, except in the book Ithiri
Nerambokku Ithiri Darsanam, a collection of his cartoons.
I could very freely interact with him and tell him all nonsense as
he used to make me feel that he is yet another child like me. When I start
reading him, what will I think of this childhood friend of mine for nine years!
