“Why are you putting us, your father and mother, down like this, my dear daughter? Why?” Ann asked her daughter, who was miles and miles away, unable to hear her lament.
Her siblings were surprised at the outburst on a happy occasion, coming on the heels of landing a dream job far away from her home where hell was a permanent guest as long as they could remember. They blamed this on the overpowering memories of misery and starvation throughout Kareena’s days in Kerala that sowed sad images in the core of her heart, memories so powerful that they easily eclipsed even the powerful bursts of happiness triggered by her newfound life.
Rita resumed reading, because Ann could not continue. Rita used to join the family along with her husband, Tim, on days when letters from Kareena arrived.
“All along I was hoping there would be a silver lining to our combined suffering. All along I was hoping that there would be a rainbow after a heavy rain to signal some hope. All along I was hoping there would be a bright morning after a long night of suffering. Why are we all born to suffer without a break?
“Even though I am bitter and mad, I keep seeking hope and happiness. I will continue seeking them, even if it means the end of the world.
“I send my love to you all. I hope we will continue our friendship forever, because we have none except ourselves. I hope one day we will be reunited in Kerala and live together happily ever after, just like in fairy tales.
“From Kareena, with love.”
4OLD MAN MISERY
Thoma and Ann often remembered their wretched life in Mannuthy. Often those memories would rise like monsoon storm, refusing to die down. They could not help remembering the past, because it was hard to forget it, however fervently they wished they could.
Heavy monsoon rain was pelting Mannuthy with gigantic rock-sized water drops. The day looked like night with dark, heavy clouds hovering over Mannuthy and the surrounding areas. The very air in the town looked and felt ominous.
Thoma and Ann were at their home, watching the torrential rain and in the company of Subashini, the parrot.
The monsoon rain season was depressing to Thoma and Ann, since it only brought with it forlorn days, when he would be out of job, with hunger staying with them like a perennial guest. They had been unable to feed ten mouths, been unable to clothe them, and been unable to pay rent to Chettiar, the landlord.
Old Man Misery (OMM) entered Thoma’s household, totally uninvited, at the beginning of the monsoon rain to stay the whole season. He was also known as hunger man or simply, misery man. He was tall, scary looking like a cobra, and with an imposing presence. His annual visit had a clockwork quality—as sure as the monstrous monsoon rain in Kerala, as sure as days dark as midnight during the depressing rainy seasons in Kerala, as sure as the gloom written on the faces of the toiling masses of rural Kerala, and as sure as starvation that stalked them during monsoon season.
For the hunger man and the spectators, his visit had all the elements of a grand ceremony. He made a spectacular entrance, clad in a black robe, signaling the black days of misery to come. The black robe trailed behind him. He made his arrival like an actor would make his dramatic entrance onto a stage. He smoked a beedi, puffing out its black smoke, and chewed tobacco at the same time. He spat out the tobacco’s blood-red liquid at the cracked door of the house. He then sent a sobering look all around, especially to everyone in the family, terrifying them out of their wits. He laughed loudly and hysterically. He laughed devilishly. He was an insane man.
He sowed discomfort in the hearts of Thoma’s household members. Ann hid fearfully in the inner sanctorum of her leaking kitchen, like a lamb sentenced to be killed. Misery man’s solemn arrival shook her with a terrified heart. His arrival maddened Thoma. Even the stray dog that occasionally sneaked into Ann’s kitchen through a hole in the back door was scared stiff at seeing the hunger man. Thoma sought consolation by smoking a handcrafted beedi made of newspaper scrapped from the street, for lack of a bona fide cigarette or even a beedi. The tobacco product helped alleviate the pain of hunger; it helped put out the fire in his belly.
The menacing-looking guest tossed a beedi generously at Thoma, inviting him to join the smoking ceremony to mark the beginning of the monsoon season’s woes. This philanthropic gesture, in spite of its mocking undercurrents, was reluctantly accepted by Thoma. He had no other choice. He was hungry, miserable, and lonesome and any company was welcome to see through the depressing season. He swallowed his pride. He would have invited even the devil to share the monsoon season.
Thoma and Ann, along with their children, shivered in the cold and trembled with fear in the presence of the hunger man. He reminded the family that he was a special guest to a special family, since he never extended the courtesy of his visit to any other family. The sarcasm was biting. It was penetrating like monsoon chill.
Old Man Misery showed up with a detailed plan that included making sure that there was no rice to cook the whole season; making sure that firewood used as fuel to ignite the clay oven became scarce so that Ann and children could not fetch any from the nearby rubber estate; making sure that Thoma was out of job, curtailing his ability to feed his ten children; making sure that the pots and pans did not need to be washed, since there was no cooking activity; making sure the children’s school dues were not paid; making sure no clothes and blankets were bought to withstand the penetrating cold of the pouring monsoon rain; making sure that the family caught the aroma of fried fish from their neighbor’s kitchens, revamping the ache of hunger; making sure that there were skirmishes with the landlord over unpaid rent; making sure that the kerosene could not be bought to light up the lamp at night for the children to read their schoolbooks and do their homework, forcing them to read under the streetlamps; making sure the roof leaked, letting in the monsoon rain to soak up the entire house; making sure that misery reigned supreme. The grand plan made sure of including every pathetic detail that allowed the spirit to become weak, because the body was starving.
Monsoon season severely debilitated Thoma’s attempts to find the masonry work, his trade. The misery man commanded Thoma to put his livelihood on hold, effectively asking him to go to hell, to die. He was reduced to a sorry figure, spending all his time at home, sleeping days and nights on end, the torrential rain making him dispirited. There was no relief in sight and none to approach to borrow money from to see him and family through the wet season. The children skipped classes, because he could not assure the quality of their clothing needed to go to school. There was no umbrella to shield them from the pelting rain. More importantly, there was no food for days on end for the growing bodies of his young children, and this depressed him and his wife.
When the season mercifully came to its conclusion, the uninvited guest reluctantly left, with a satisfied look for having sowed terror and reaped its rewards, such as bringing down the self-esteem of the family to the lowest level possible. He spat wildly at the cracked door and tossed another beedi to Thoma. This gesture marked the arrival act and the departure act of his visit. Before departing, he made a solemn promise to come back.
“I will be back next rainy season, my friend!” he told Thoma upon departure, puffing out a black O ring of smoke. “Be sure you don’t leave the premises! Remember, I like you,” he announced, rubbing salt in the wound, adding insult into injury.
He sent a threatening look to Thoma and Ann just before taking off. He sent a knowing look to all the children in the family. Written on his face were a threat and a promise to repeat his monsoon season pilgrimage in the future. The stray dog howled with fear and ran with its tail tucked between its hind legs. Even bubbly Subashini, who was kept caged in the kitchen, always buoyant and chirpy, was scared and had no wisecracks to offer to lighten up the situation and sow seeds of badly needed sunshine in Thoma’s household.
Old Man Misery laughed like a demon and crossed the front yard. Just before walking down to the street, he disrobed and abandoned the black robe in Thoma’s front yard and immediately became clad
in a white robe. He was in the street by now and suddenly disappeared to re-appear next monsoon.
***
While living in the rental house in Mannuthy, Thoma was nine months overdue on rent payment at a time when, paradoxically, Ann was nine months pregnant with one of their countless children. Thoma always promised the landlord timely rent, and landlord stopped asking, hoping he could collect it next month. All of Thoma’s children witnessed the never-ending saga of Chettiar requesting rent and Thoma giving false promises. Thoma was wishing away his responsibilities, as everyone knew.
All his children fearfully prepared for the next encounter with the landlord, come the first of next month. Thoma would be granted one more month to pay the dues. This would continue indefinitely. On the first of the ninth month, the usual encounter did not take place. Instead, Mannuthy’s citizens saw the badly beaten body of Thoma in the gutter, abandoned by the goons hired by the landlord. He was taken to the nearby government hospital by some kind citizens. It broke Ann’s heart seeing her husband so badly beaten that day.
It is not that Thoma did not want to pay the rent. In his heart of hearts, he planned to pay the rent and meant every word he told Chettiar. However, the needs of his children took precedence, and those needs shelved his plans of rental payment. He would be left with no money towards the month’s end. The landlord reached the limit of his patience and took the law into his own hands, being a vigilante of sorts to sort out things.
Thoma lost two upper front teeth in the encounter, a lasting memorial to the tragic falling out with Chettiar. Everyone got used to his gap-toothed smile and funny way of pronouncing Malayalam words. His children imitated his new pronunciation in a skit they presented at the Mannuthy School’s youth festival. It was hilarious.
“Even though the number of your father’s teeth is reduced, the number of his bones has increased,” Ann said proudly to her children in a rare display of humor.
God, in his infinite wisdom, did not forget to endow her small brain with a sense of humor to put up with Thoma. Or did she acquire it after her marriage to Thoma? Possibly. The children laughed loudly hearing the unexpected joke. They then repeated it to their friends at school, who laughed even more.
Even though Thoma was beaten and thrown into the gutter like a dead dog, humiliated publicly and especially in front of his family, he continued to live in Chettiar’s rental house, because he had nowhere else to go. Chettiar himself had reached the end of the road as far as Thoma was concerned and gave up on him, taking rent whenever he could.
Meanwhile, Thoma’s family was growing so much so that the size of the rental house became inadequate to accommodate all of them. Ann was delivering babies every year with the predictability of a sunrise.
The rental house was becoming increasingly smaller and smaller as more children appeared on the scene. Thoma drilled a hole in the low ceiling and moved the family belongings upstairs to the attic— illegally, of course. Chettiar was mad like hell and came with his sons to Thoma’s house to vacate them but with no success. “This is against the rental contract,” shouted Chettiar and his belligerent sons. Thoma did not have the contract with him to check out the details, because Ann had burned it as cooking fuel to prepare kanji.
They were accused of illegal occupancy by a lawyer hired by Chettiar. The case filed against Thoma never did reach a court of law. Chettiar’s lawyer made a big bundle of money, and nothing else happened. Ann considered this as a sign from God. They knew that the Mannuthy rental was going to be their permanent abode. It was their promised land, Ann reminded her husband.
“We are like the people of Israel who reached their Promised Land; this Mannuthy rental house is our Promised Land and ultimate salvation,” she repeatedly told Thoma.
***
The house in Mannuthy had one bedroom, one kitchen, and a front porch. That is all. It was called a shotgun house, having all the rooms in a single line, forcing one to go through every room to get to another room. The simplest architecture in the world! It was called line-room architecture. There was no connecting hallway.
All the boys and Thoma slept on the porch, while the girls and Ann slept in the bedroom immediately behind the porch. Behind the bedroom was the kitchen. The toilet and bathroom facilities were out in the open, in the backyard.
The four girls in the family sneaked a peek at the boys sleeping on the porch at night. Then they started counting their erections: one, two…six. The exciting sight grabbed headlines from the girls. Soon it became a topic of intense nightly discussion among them, those six erect penises, which stood in their nightly glory like the cannons used by Tipu Sultan in the battle of Srirangapatna of 1799. They stood erect and alert, ready to fire at an angle of 45 degrees. This specific angle gave maximum range to the cannons, per the laws of physics.
“They are our six nightly guards standing to attention, eager to protect us,” the girls hollered out and burst into uncontrollable giggles. They saluted the erect soldiers, felt safe by their presence, and went back to sleep, admiring their sleepless vigilance to guard them while their owners were negligently falling asleep. “The body is sleeping, but the soldiers are erect,” they murmured to each other, paraphrasing the famous Bible quotation, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” at the scene where Christ was awake, but his disciples were falling asleep during the night of Christ’s encounter with the high priests, when he was betrayed by Judas, who handed over his master to his enemies with a kiss on the face.
It was Ann who brought the scene of the upstanding soldiers to the attention of the eldest, Rita. Mother had given a strict warning to the eldest not to reveal the nightly scene to the younger ones, lest it would pollute their minds. Rita was surprised that a pious woman like Ann paid attention to the erect penises and then brought them to other people’s attention, especially to her own daughter.
“It will be our own secret; don’t tell any of your sisters of this,” Ann warned Rita.
Rita promptly informed the next sister in line, Kareena, about the nightly sentinels. Naturally, the news spread through all the sisters, who then made it part of their nightly duty to greet Tipu Sultan’s guns and bid good-bye to them before settling down to sleep, relieved that they were protected the whole night.
***
Thoma erected a palm leaf curtain on the porch to get privacy and to shield them from the glare of the streetlights while they were sleeping. The curtain came up at night and came down in the morning.
Chettiar’s children and the other children in the neighborhood looked at the newly erected curtain curiously and joked that Thoma was a stage manager directing a daily Malayalam drama called “Thoma and His Family.” They claimed that Thoma, Ann, and their children were actors in this Mannuthy drama, a cast of two adults and ten children. Their performance took place nightly, in spite of the fact that they could sell no tickets.
The neighbors claimed that when the curtain was drawn at night, a drama unraveled and it lasted the whole night, until the final curtain drop in the morning. The drama played out behind the closed curtain was the parents’ lovemaking. The children had no role except to pass comments on this act and to uncomfortably watch the scenes, pretending not to see it at all.
God’s answer to the perennial question from the children, especially the elder children was this drama. The conversation of the elder children went like this: “Since father and mother are sleeping separately, how do they make new babies?”
The nightly drama explained how Ann was able to deliver babies like clockwork, like in an assembly line in a factory.
“No stork ever delivered any baby to our house,” Ann said proudly.
The clay oven and pots in kitchen and a cross hanging on the darkened kitchen wall bore witness to their passionate lovemaking behind the backs of the sleeping boys and girls. Some nights they scared away the lizards and rats in the kitchen. The neighbor’s dog that usually materialized in the kitchen through a hole in the door barked loudly in protest
and exited, giving them the privacy they needed. Subashini, in the hanging cage in the kitchen, closed her eyes, pretending to see nothing, to hear nothing, and determined to say nothing of the night spectacle.
The raw sounds and moans of love-making alerted the rooster sleeping on one leg in the backyard. He woke up and involuntarily cried out “cock-a-doodle-doo” as loud as he could. This usually woke up Bhavani, their good neighbor. She immediately woke up and started preparing to go to temple for the Morning Prayer thinking that morning had broken. She attired herself in sari, applied a bindi on forehead, and carried a bunch of fragrant jasmines to dedicate to the temple goddess.
When she opened the front door, the creaking sound alerted sleeping Kumarettan, her barber husband, who immediately got up and restrained Bhavani from visiting the temple at midnight. “Come back to bed, hon. Goddess can wait until morning,” he told his wife and dragged her to bed. The fragrance of freshly picked jasmine flowers that adorned Bhavani’s hair had made him drunk with passion. Bhavani would give birth to her second daughter nine months later.
***
The rain was battering outside the rental home in Mannuthy. The day looked dark because of the collected clouds yet to rain down. Thoma was out, and the children were in the school. The chickens and ducks in the backyard had taken asylum on the verandah to escape the rain. Ann was alone at home. She was sitting in the kitchen, looking outside, watching the rain. She then took out the sickle and started cutting tapioca to make curry for supper. She was crouching while she kept herself busy cutting tapioca.
That is when Chettiar walked in to collect the monthly rent. It was the first of the month, and rent was due. He made himself comfortable, sat on the bench in the kitchen, and stated the reason for his visit. Ann did not have any money. Thoma had not given her rental money when he left home earlier on in the day. Whenever he was able, he used to hand over the rent to her, delegating her to give it to Chettiar. But today was not such a day.
Amballore House Page 5