City Snaps

It all started in an evening, sunny and windy, when the four of us decided to take a stroll through the city. It is strange how even the most familiar landmarks and oft-trodden ways appear new when in company of loved ones and fond laughters. We bestowed a cursory glance and the shadow of a smile to an energetic youth who was handing out pamphlets- the advertisement of some coaching centre- which I presume is a common sight for students. As if in a reflex action, we stretched our hands and the next moment we were left pondering why did we have in our possession, the advertisement of a coaching centre which focuses on science subjects. However, as the caption of a famous mobile network, we continued to “walk and talk”. Unconsciously, we were folding the pamphlets neatly into paper airplanes, another reflex action.

When four girls walk about, there is no need for a crowd to create a din. Getting noisier by the minute, we walked as if we owned the road. While passing the beautiful structure of the Malankara Church, did we, out of reverence, observe a minute’s silence? Our chattering group now reached the fly over behind the galleries of Chandrasekharan Nair stadium. Huge trees with beautiful pink flowers with petals shaped like thread provided us occasional shades. Here we stopped for a while, with people staring at us curiously and doubtfully. We “launched” our paper rockets from the fly-over and stood there, gazing at its flight. Our eyes and hearts followed the paper planes in their swift, weightless and circular movement with the wind. We fondly named the place our “rocket launching centre”. Then it was that we noticed a slight shaking of the bridge with the passage of every KSRTC bus. Alarmed, we proceeded our walk towards the Kerala Legislative Assembly building. I remembered the day I visited this huge building with my friends in the summer school, a child of ten, I had timidly asked the then speaker M.Vijayakumar, what the need of such a luxurious structure was. His reply that it was intended for the future generations had proved true now. Our eyes scanned the E.M.S Park which was made beautiful with eye catching greenery and artistically trimmed shrubs.

“The Grass is Greener…” I hummed to general amusement. I looked at the statue of E.M.S and it amused me to see that contrary to the other statues in the city, the one of E.M.S was clean and completely devoid of bird poo. “Did the abundant bird population of the city miss this spot or is it out of veneration to the veteran politician?” I chuckled. It was then that Appu’s eye caught the open gates which led to the CSI Church in LMS. A squeeze in my hand told me that she craved to go inside. The quick passing view from the bus, of the churchyard and the lilac colored flowers had often urged me to visit the place. “Shall we go inside?” I asked my friends. Longing reflected in Appu’s face. Doubt took over the smiles in the faces of Chink and Sharu. I took Appu’s hand and as if in a trance, crossed the road.

When we touched the rusty half open gates, doubt had already started stirring inside my mind. Acting upon an impulse, would it pose a problem? The moment we stepped inside the compound, the air was different, the winds had changed. With hesitant steps, we walked past the church, towards the final resting place of many unknown people. I stole a quick glance into the half opened side door of the church and caught the sight of a boy piling up some chairs. Keeping a lookout for other strange and suspicious faces, we walked between arrays of gravestones, occasionally reading inscriptions on them.

“Everyday in some small way, memories of you come our way...

Even though far, you are ever near, missed and loved”

The sight of the gravestones at the back of the churchyard was overwhelming. Even though the inscriptions told that they were remembered, they looked as if draped in a veil of oblivion. There were no flowers on the gravestones, no candles also. But the ever- caring nature had strewn the final abode of these unknown people with a bed of yellow flowers. Clusters of yellow and lilac flowers were waiting impatiently in the branches to perform their purpose- to pay tribute to these people who had lived. Sunrays stole dutifully through the canopy of leaves and flowers to give them the everlasting kiss. O.V.Vijayan’s reflections in ‘The Epic of Khasak’ about the unforgetting attitude of nature and Tennyson’s yew tree, stern in its grief, passed through the mind in quick flashes. How scanty is the remembrance and promises of man in comparison? Thus immersed in a flow of thoughts, we read through many more inscriptions.

M.L. Mammen                                                Annamma Mammen

Born 5.12.1913                                                Born 20.7.1918

Died 16.2.1981                                                 Died 16.6.2010

It’s intriguing to notice how the lives of people who had been born, loved and finally died could be confined to a mere time line indicated by six numbers. A date to another date- a man’s whole life is inevitably compressed within these two days. I was left pondering and imagining about the life of Mr. and Mrs. Mammen. They would have had an eventful life! God! They were people who even witnessed the dawn of Indian Independence. They would have had a bunch of children, as most in their generation had. A glance at their death dates made me sad. Mrs. Mammen had survived Mr. Mammen by 29 years. Maybe after many years of togetherness, she had to stand his demise. The prospect of such extreme grief was incomprehensible. Mrs. Mammen was 92 when she died…. Maybe oblivion had blessed her in her advanced years and saved her the pain of brooding over memories. Everywhere around the lives of such people of no renown whatsoever greeted us. Who were these people? With Thomas Gray, we also mused about these strangers.

“Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife

Their sober wishes never learned to stray;

Along the cool sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way”

Again the thought of who these people were troubled me, the people who were now a complete nonentity. I presumed they were people who were born, brought up and died in this city. They would have noticed every change this city had undergone in their days. The old face of this city, which is revealed to us only in old Mohanlal films, might had been touched and felt by these people. The sudden gasp with which we now recognize the old face of our familiar landmarks in these old films must have been nothing of concern for them. What is past to us is present to them to which they associate no admiration. It made me think of my present. My city, to which I had no particular admiration suddenly appeared in a totally different light. My college, the university library, the canteen, the road along which I usually walk, safalyam shopping complex, Babu chettan’s tea shop, the church, the fly-over, the stadium, the trees- everything suddenly had an appeal. Would I, in some distant future, recognize with a gasp, the present face of my city in a similar video clip? The very thought created a “sense of menace” in me. Like the majority of my generation, I had been weaving dreams about implanting my life to another city, to escape from the familiarity of my surroundings. All of a sudden, realization hit me that I loved my city. If there is any place on earth I’d like to live, it is here- even if it adds me to the list of people lost to oblivion. After all, “Home is where we have to gather grace.”

We were thus immersed in our individual thought processes when a man walked towards us. A bit alarmed, we didn’t anyway show any insecurity ad told him that we were literature students of University College. As we were making our exit from this memorable spot, my eyes caught a beautiful gravestone, half concealed in the grass.

Noel Joseph (Bava)

Organist of Christ Church

9^th June 1924 – 19^th July 2001

“Safe in the arms of Jesus”

“Safe”. It appeared so true. This musician who had lived and died had finally found a sense of safety- the wonderful prize for his nonentity. While the inscriptions on eternal remembrance to the dead was only half- true, this statement about the achievement of safety appeared to me to be completely true. This wonderful, place was incredible and unbelievable. In the midst of a hasty and crowdy city, this quiet and serene place was an impossible idea until we went there. As we walked out of the rusty gates, there was something different about us, perhaps an unseen presence which urged us to visit again. Leaving behind the array of strangers, we went our separate ways, with an unmade promise to revisit them.