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I had never seen the Post Office
The Centre of the village is a cross roads.
The East-West road connects Poochunnipadam in the West and Chathakudam Sastha temple in the East The road cutting it, goes towards the Vaidyarathnam H.Q in the North and Sharikal Durga temple in the opposite direction. You can easily spot the State Bank of India, the Panchayath office, Community hall etc, but never the Post Office, which is still the life line of the villages surrounding it.
So, when I wanted to post a letter, I had to make enquiries.
At last, some guy took me to the Krishi Bhavan and the to a small room, where a lady was busily writing and a man who was collecting dak for distribution. I cold not believe it is the Post Office
I waited for some ten minutes before she finished her writing.
I want a envelop for sending a registered letter, I told her.
Not available, was the reply.
Ordinary envelop?
Again No.
My humble request to whoever may be, is that the Post Office be shifted to the main street in the Centre, where rooms are available.

KERALITES PUBLISH MAXIMUM BOOKS

It will be interesting to compare the per capita number of books published in Malayalam with other languages.

Almost all of us, who are capable of writing, have published at least one book.

When you travel in the train, somebody will go on placing  a bunch of books by the  side  of passengers and come back later on. Recently I bought one book on the birds of Keralam and my wife bought one about house building, because we are making a small house. All books are priced Rs. 10/ and contain about 100 pages.

At the Agricultural University, Mannoothy, I saw a notice” SALE OF BOOKS NOT ALLOWED”. It shows that I am not the only one going about selling books.

A retired school teacher, Sankaran Kutty Mashu, spent his retirement benefits in publishing his autobiography. Each copy costs Rs. 250. I read it with great interest, because it is an absolutely truthful account of his life at Brahmaswam Math at Trichur, during the revolutionary upsurge among us namboodiries, when communism attacked the institution.

Essentially, the Math is a Vedic School for imparting knowledge of Rigveda to Brahmana children; it allows hostel facilities for those who go to school, too. Following land reforms, the Math encountered financial difficulties, as its main source of income was landed property. The book is a valuable source of information about those days. It has literary value also. But none is interested in classical type of novels. The book failed. The author sold some copies personally. Now he is working as a poojary, somewhere in Andhra Pradesh.

Valuable books which are not likely to be bought by the general public, should be bought by the Government and distributed to public libraries.

Some of my friends confessed that not a single copy has been sold.

The number of newspapers and periodicals published in Malayalam far exceeds the number of similar publications  in other languages, if population is considered.

SLAVE REVOLT – WE ARE ALL SLAVES

Slavery is as old as history, when tools made it possible to exploit the labour of others.

Are we free today? The illusion of freedom is created because we cannot see the invisible chains that bind us to the work place.

I feel that the word freedom itself is an illusion, like the word love. We say a free bird. But ask the poor bird; it may like to remain in its nest, if it can get food.

In desperation, the slaves used to revolt. They are killed and their body hung from the branches of trees on the way side, as a warning to others. In due course, it is forgotten and the slaves revolt again.

The forms of revolt do change. Freedom movement, revolution, suicide and even my writing is a revolt against slavery.

The terrorist is no exception.

APN – AINJIKAT PAZHEDATH NARAYANAN

 He is above sixty, having retired from Rourkela Steel Plant in Orissa.

 He worked as a fitter, I think. Even though he married one of my innumerable cousin sisters, only recently I came to know of him.

 What impressed me most, is his zest for work. Whenever I go there, he will be working in his plot, where he grows plantains, vegetables, growing above the earth and under the ground. He never uses artificial fertilizers; instead, he makes compost. He makes a mixture of tobacco stub, which is normally thrown away, and something, boiled in water, as insecticides. He has not heard of organic farming!

 He works as carpenter or mason when necessary. He has recently dug a well, with nelli beams as the foundation, and used tiles for lining the open well, which may be, at least ten feet in diameter.

 He was a good singer and students’ leader when young.

 Normally, we namboodiries are a lazy lot, especially the adhyan variety, namboodiripad, to which I belong. I am very lazy indeed, except when writing.

There is another Pazhedath, in the same campus, where one of my chitassy amma, was given in marriage to Sreemanettan. When we were learning veda at Kirangattu mana KRS (Unni aphan) and myself (seven years old) used to go there, to do sandhya vandanam, a mandatory ritual, whenever we went to Cherpu Bhagavathy temple to attend evening feast, known as varam.

There was a big man with large eyes; he was the son of the same Sreemanettan by another wife who had died. I was afraid of him. His sister Leela later married my brother.

Earlier, they were wealthy; like a number of namboodiries, mismanagement may be the reason for the decline.