Across the alley

On Vijayadasami day, Unnamalai Aakka's son's ear lobes were to be pierced. Brother-in-law had sent a letter. Father was busy in the fields and could not go; so, Diravi and his mother went to Pazhavadai.

Before the picture of Saraswathi, goddess of learning and the arts, who sat holding a veena, Brother-in-law sat with his son playing in his lap. But when his first ear lobe was pierced, the boy set up a wail that was really loud for a three-year-old. His other lobe was pierced even while he was weeping and the earrings were put in. The women's auspicious songs drowned his wailing. Diravi could not recollect it, but felt that he too must have wept when his ears were pierced like this by the goldsmith. And must have later been proud of his earrings as now his nephew was. Uncle Iyan Pillai, the grandfather, was quite happy. The boy himself looked somewhat altered now, with his earrings. Everyone present received sweetened rice.

When Diravi returned to Eraniyal, Aachi handed over a letter addressed to him. It was an appointment order from the Karingal Government School. Diravi was pleased; it was a worthwhile change from private school service. Karingal was some miles on the road from Eraniyal to Kuzhithurai, but the bus service to Karingal was fairly regular. And the town itself was a big and busy one.

He had become an experienced teacher and loved teaching. Though the Karingal school was a High School, Diravi had to take classes only up to the 8th class. He arranged for some tuitions also, as there were some old debts to be cleared.

One day Diravi was sitting, lost in his endless, sorrowful thoughts in a dark comer of the staffroom when he heard someone ask him, "What is it Diravi? I have asked you half a dozen times…you always seem to be unhappy."

It was teacher Moses who stood beside him. Moses was one of the most loved men in the school; everyone had a special regard for him. He was quite bald with a few strands of white hair. He had a broad forehead. He wore glasses, from behind which his eyes laughed brightly. A prominent nose and beneath it a Hitlerian moustache. He wore a mull dhoti and a bush shirt. He was all of 6.6 ft tall. Moses had been asking him this question for quite some time. "Nothing really," was Diravi's usual reply.

Moses drew up a chair and sat in it. He stretched his legs on another chair and began to chew betel leaf as was his habit. There were only two or three other teachers in the large staff-room and they were gossiping.

"No, you are concealing something, Diraviam. You are only 20 years old …you should be happy at this age and in your circumstances. But you seem to be nursing some secret sorrow."

Diravi could not tell him anything. What was he to tell him?

Moses was a senior teacher in the school. He was nearly 50 years old. In a couple of years, he would become the Headmaster. He was usually called MAMA, because he had a double MA degree. He had a third division master's degree in literature; so he took maths and passed his second MA again in the third class. Not because he did not do well in his exam but because he was in the national movement and his teachers disqualified him, loyal British citizens that they were. He did not want to study for a third MA; so, he became a school teacher. His wife was a doctor in the Neyyor Hospital. He was well off now—both husband and wife were earning …but he was a modest, unassuming man. People always said, "Look at Moses. He has something to be proud of. But there is no pride in his make up. He is one in a thousand, an exception in these times." This was the tribute that even the school peon paid to Moses, while he borrowed snuff from him liberally.

With his fellow teachers as well as his superiors, Moses had the reputation of generally being a reliable man. He was frank and affectionate. Such a highly respected man was asking him something and Diravi did not want to lie to him. The bell rang and Moses said, "I have to take English for the tenth. We shall talk about it again," and left.

Leaving school that evening, he was caught by Moses again. "When I was your age, Diraviam, do you know how adventurous I was," he laughed, his laughter indicative of a thousand interesting stories. When he asked him again what his burden was, Diravi was embarrassed. What was he to say? Did he himself know what his burden was? He tried to examine himself. Nagu Akka's face was the first thing he remembered. And then quite a number of things. He had known hundreds of persons. With some, he had had happy moments. But he could think only of the sorrowful thing that had happened to him. Was he a weak person born to self-pity? Diravi wondered.

(Excerpted with permission from Neela Padmanabhan's Generations; published by Niyogi books)