MY AUTHORS SMELL KEROSENE
by Fazal Rahman on Friday, April 27, 2012 at 5:02pm ·
Down memory lane
they all smell kerosene:
my great authors.
Village ways extended to the Shornur – Nilambur railway track. Just two passenger trains every day. An occasional goods train. Practically a fine, shortest-route pedestrian path. Six kilometers north-ward and you reached the Pattikkad Rural Library. Five kilometers south-ward was the Desasevini Vayanasala, Angadippuram, which was, and still is, a very good one of the kind. One day to north, one day to south. A cherished routine, especially on holidays and vacation times. Books never tired you out, especially in those pre-television sane days.
Reaching Angadippuram Reading room by 03-30 pm had an added attraction: you are just in time for the good old radio, a rarity of the days, to chime: “Radio Srilanka” which ensued one full hour of the best-ever of Malayalam cinema songs. It was the heyday of the best cinema songs- the unforgettable -'70-s. North-ward destination had already ceased to excite me, as I graduated from Muttathu Varkey and Kottaym Pushpanath to the likes of Basheer, Vijayan, VKN and MT. Hemingway, Emily Bronte, Victor Hugo, and George Orwell, of course in translations. I seldom took Basheer, my all-time favorite, home. His books were very small. Instead, I would take one, a special generosity on the part of the librarian to the skinny boy with eyes to gorge the entire shelves, and read it then and there, one full hour. Ears to the melody King, KJ Yesudas, eyes to the Sultan of story telling; heart to both. No problem, no ego clash between the two within...A boy's heart has as many rooms within as there are dear ones to accommodate. I still remember those days I read O V Vijayan's Dharmapuranam in its original version serialized in the since extinct Malayalnadu Weekly. 04-30 pm and it is back-home trot. Mind fully set on the treasure in hand, and legs agile lest you missed the 'tournament' in the fields. Out there your team mates wouldn't understand what it was to grab the book. They wouldn't wait.
One particular day is vividly etched in my memory: that day’s pick was Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, in Malayalam translation. It was quite abruptly that heavy downpour broke out. With no umbrella and no shelter in sight, there was nothing I could do about it. Drenched completely. It is funny now to hark back how I managed to get the book comparatively unscathed. One of the reasons I ever felt so close to Robert Jordan, Maria and Anselmo might be this. My mother was to comment half-mockingly: “he wouldn’t protect even his child like that..!”
Night. Time to immerse in the treasure hunt. The kerosene lamp to the left. The night is young to the wee hours. Father, awake for some primary needs, mumbles something about the lamp still burning. Again the stillness of the night. In good company. Then, sometime into the wee hours, you fell asleep, the story-teller also at rest for the day.
Today the eye doctor diagnoses me 'bi-focal'. That's fine. Kerosene lamps are not very doctor-friendly.
My Hemingway still smells kerosene.
they all smell kerosene:
my great authors.
Village ways extended to the Shornur – Nilambur railway track. Just two passenger trains every day. An occasional goods train. Practically a fine, shortest-route pedestrian path. Six kilometers north-ward and you reached the Pattikkad Rural Library. Five kilometers south-ward was the Desasevini Vayanasala, Angadippuram, which was, and still is, a very good one of the kind. One day to north, one day to south. A cherished routine, especially on holidays and vacation times. Books never tired you out, especially in those pre-television sane days.
Reaching Angadippuram Reading room by 03-30 pm had an added attraction: you are just in time for the good old radio, a rarity of the days, to chime: “Radio Srilanka” which ensued one full hour of the best-ever of Malayalam cinema songs. It was the heyday of the best cinema songs- the unforgettable -'70-s. North-ward destination had already ceased to excite me, as I graduated from Muttathu Varkey and Kottaym Pushpanath to the likes of Basheer, Vijayan, VKN and MT. Hemingway, Emily Bronte, Victor Hugo, and George Orwell, of course in translations. I seldom took Basheer, my all-time favorite, home. His books were very small. Instead, I would take one, a special generosity on the part of the librarian to the skinny boy with eyes to gorge the entire shelves, and read it then and there, one full hour. Ears to the melody King, KJ Yesudas, eyes to the Sultan of story telling; heart to both. No problem, no ego clash between the two within...A boy's heart has as many rooms within as there are dear ones to accommodate. I still remember those days I read O V Vijayan's Dharmapuranam in its original version serialized in the since extinct Malayalnadu Weekly. 04-30 pm and it is back-home trot. Mind fully set on the treasure in hand, and legs agile lest you missed the 'tournament' in the fields. Out there your team mates wouldn't understand what it was to grab the book. They wouldn't wait.
One particular day is vividly etched in my memory: that day’s pick was Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, in Malayalam translation. It was quite abruptly that heavy downpour broke out. With no umbrella and no shelter in sight, there was nothing I could do about it. Drenched completely. It is funny now to hark back how I managed to get the book comparatively unscathed. One of the reasons I ever felt so close to Robert Jordan, Maria and Anselmo might be this. My mother was to comment half-mockingly: “he wouldn’t protect even his child like that..!”
Night. Time to immerse in the treasure hunt. The kerosene lamp to the left. The night is young to the wee hours. Father, awake for some primary needs, mumbles something about the lamp still burning. Again the stillness of the night. In good company. Then, sometime into the wee hours, you fell asleep, the story-teller also at rest for the day.
Today the eye doctor diagnoses me 'bi-focal'. That's fine. Kerosene lamps are not very doctor-friendly.
My Hemingway still smells kerosene.
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