കളകളമിളകുമൊരരുവിയിലലകളിലൊരുകുളിരൊരുകുളകം,
കരളിലുമലരിതളുദിരുമൊരളികുലമിളകിയചുരുലളകം!
kaLakaLamiLakumoraruviyilalakaLilorukuLirorukuLakam, karaLilumalarithaLudirumoraLikulamiLakiyachurulaLakam!
Does anyone know who wrote those lines and the rest of the verse, if it is indeed from a poem?
When I read Jiby's take on blogging, I was reminded of the stimuli behind the creation of this blog. At a time when I felt acutely stressed for the first time as it wrapped around me like a bell jar vacuum, at a time when the desired outcome was solely square within my reach, I alt-tabbed to searches on things close to my heart to assuage whatever -algia was tearing me inside. Link after link, hungry for information, I pored over every word and punctuation and even the html sources in some cases, to try and precipitate from the amalgam of bloggers' thoughts and memories a smelling salt of sorts which would jolt me back to a past I had left behind.
Reading through the posts of a network of core bloggers, I found incredible solace and relished drowning in the memories that came flooding back. I wish to forget everything else of those few days save for those blogs I read. After that trying time, I began to regularly follow those five or so blogs and now that list has grown to around thirty. Whether they were anecdotes hanging onto the pallu of the recipes posted, or Pinteresque surreal humour fused into tales of appachans and muthashis of yore braving technology and culture in the new century, or picturesque word paintings of childhoods and college years at a time when paisa coins were actually worth something - at least enough to buy narangamuttayi or a chaya, or impassioned and reasoned pleas for reform of unfairness and injustice still endemic in the social and cultural milieux, or just valippu scenes from the mill of daily routine still tickling the spot and eliciting giggles years later; I savour each word with a fervour some might call homesickness or nostalgia and some others might cynically mutter "Mutathe mullake manamilla".
If at least to add my share to those tiny portions of life (real, imagined or exaggerated) spewing forth into the blogosphere, I started this blog. I, the entity which precipitates out from the stories and thoughts in the posts, am slowly being created with each post out there. My main motivation is enjoying the reminscences and being party to moulding life into prose... ordinary lives, but saddled with meaning: a personal meaning conveyed through each of a blogger's posts, that often gets lost otherwise in the thick of surviving the day.
Kunchan Nambiar is my favourite Malayalam poet. My first encounter with Nambiar was an excerpt from his 'Kalyanasaugandhikam' in our Malayala Padavali which made me just laugh when I read it aloud:
Nokkeda nammude margey kidakkunna, Markada neeyangu mari kida sheda.
This roughly translates to
'Yo! Look at this monkey blocking our way. Hey, you monkey! Find somewhere else to lie, darn it!
Bhima, the muscle-man of the five Pandava brothers is enraged to find Hanuman, the mischievous monkey god, lying in front of their way in the forest. Nambiar gives vent to Bhima's indignance and rage in such a witty way much like "Yo mama!" jokes, at least in my imagination.
His poetry has a percussive quality which was necessary for the thullal (acting and dancing) accompanying the recitation. I can imagine him rapping away if he lived in the 21st century; a master freestylist taking on B-Rabbit or entertaining the crowds on Whose line is it anyway? His wit and satire would fit right in Have I Got News for You? or The Daily Show or The Colbert Report; I find it odd to think of him as a contemporary of Bach and Mozart.
Since I couldn't find any archives of his poetry, I've decided to start one at mullapoombodi.blogspot.com. My only source of Nambiar is an old publication of Kiratham which I've started on. You are more than welcome to contribute to it. I recommend Varamozhi text editor which will convert your typewritten manglish e.g. kiraatham into Malayalam font e.g. കിരാതം.
ഉപ്പ്
പ്ലാവില കോട്ടിയ കുമ്പിളില്‍ തുമ്പതന്‍-
പൂവുപോലിത്തിരിയുപ്പുതരിയെടു-
ത്താവിപാറുന്ന പൊടിയരിക്കഞ്ഞിയില്‍
തൂവി പതുക്കെപ്പറയുന്നു മുത്തശ്ശി:
"ഉപ്പുചേര്‍ത്താലേ രുചിയുള്ളു! കഞ്ഞിയില്‍
ഉപ്പുതരിവീണലിഞ്ഞു മറഞ്ഞുപോം-
മട്ടിലെന്നുണ്ണി! നിന്‍ മുത്തശ്ശിയും നിന്ന-
നില്പിലൊരുനാള്‍ മറഞ്ഞുപോം! എങ്കിലും,
നിന്നിലെയുപ്പായിരിക്കുമേ മുത്തശ്ശി-
യെന്നും! എന്നുണ്ണിയെവിട്ടെങ്ങുപോകുവാന്‍!..."
ചില്ലുപാത്രത്തിലിരുന്നു ചിരിക്കുന്നു
നല്ല കറിയുപ്പ് തീന്‍മേശമേല്‍; കടല്‍-
വെള്ളത്തില്‍നിന്നും കറിയുപ്പു വാറ്റുന്നു-
വെന്ന വിജ്ഞാനപ്പനയോലയില്‍ കൊത്തി
എന്‍റെ നാവിന്നുരം വായ്പിച്ചു പണ്ടു ഞാന്‍!
പിന്നെയൊരുനാള്‍ കടല്‍കണ്ടു ഞാന്‍! വെറും
മണ്ണില്‍ കിടന്നുരുളുന്ന, കാണാതായ
തന്‍ കുഞ്ഞിനെയോര്‍ത്തു നെഞ്ഞുചുരന്നപാല്‍
എങ്ങും നിലയ്ക്കാതൊഴുകിപ്പരന്നതില്‍
മുങ്ങിമരിക്കുന്നൊരമ്മയെക്കണ്ടു ഞാന്‍!
Salt
In a jackfruit leaf a few grains of salt she takes.
Tipping them into the steaming, boiling rice flakes
Grandmother says, "There's taste only if you add Salt.
Salt melts and fades into the essence of this food.
Your grandmother too will fade, but I will always
Be the salt within you. My child I won't leave you..."
Refined, resting on the table in a glass pot,
Salt is laughing. I had learnt how to make, by rote,
Salt from seawater. Then one day I saw the sea.
Rolling in the bare sands, thinking of her lost progeny,
Milk gushing flowing and spreading without pooling,
There I did see her: a mother drowning, dying.
Reminders
There are many pages to read to be reminded on the curses of salt, be it through NEJM, Coleridge, plain old story-telling and now ubiquitously: packaged food. So when I came to read this poem again, I was reminded of ONV's take on the subject which in turn reminded me of the kitchen where Ammachi used to be queen and the dining table where Appooppan used to be king. Only he dared sprinkle the salt water kept on the dining table. It also reminded me of the priest sneaking in his favourite suvishesham Sunday after Sunday.
A loose translation with some semblance to the original by way of meaning and metre, though not so much original imagery, has been attempted. Please suggest improvements or corrections. Also listen to the great ONV himself reciting his composition. The hyperlinks in the poem are some pictures whose memories the text evoked.
