It was a hot and boring afternoon at Podanur. It was post-lunch period when we were not allowed to play outside; to sleep in the afternoon was something that we detested (wonder when I lost this) wholeheartedly. Sanjeev and I were at home, and were growing increasingly restless. Meena paati was outside, near the temple, watching traffic on Chettipalayam road chitchatting with sundry acquaintances, her focus probably on bullock carts passing on the road - to collect some fresh dung.
I looked around and spotted my favorite copper pot (chembu kudam) - I had a liking for its naadam. It was empty and I immediately proceeded to retrieve it from under the cot, only to start playing my favorite percussions on it. I must say that I was the virtuoso/prodigy who was allegedly endowed with skills of the mridangam Kunjumani (Meena's favorite little brother, and renowned artiste) lineage. True to my reputation, I launched on an elaborate thaniyavarthanam. Sanjeev picked the brass pot which was a wider mouthed one (a thavalai) than mine. I 'upped the ante', provoked by the challenge. Sanjeev was either bored or too intimidated by my talent (ahem...) that he explored other ways of one-upmanship with a thavalai.
He did find one that had my jaw dropping. His endowment is that of a big, broad (stabler-than-mine) head on his shoulders. He used this to his advantage, and flipped the brass pot and wore it on his head like a crown. The size of the mouth fitting his head perfectly. He stood in front of the mirror, full of self-appreciation. Proud of this little feat, he taunted me to better that.
I conceded defeat.
But Sanjeev was not satisfied. He set out towards the road, apparently for a short parade. Meena, on spotting Sanjeev with the disproportionate headgear, was lining up her choicest expletives when the unthinkable happened. The seemingly perfect fit was not so perfect after all - the thavalai slid over Sanjeev's head and landed on his shoulders, swallowing his head. He tried pulling it out, but the thavalai wouldn't move! It was lodged firmly over his shoulders, his head perfectly latching to its mouth...
***
People, I believe, have this tendency to attach themselves to a situation that is totally unrelated to them and provide unskilled opinions on how things should be handled.
Examples?
When the Fukoshima atomic power plant went bust, everyone with an internet connection became a self-fashioned nuclear expert overnight and advice poured on how Japan should manage the crisis. When MH 370 disappeared into the thin air (God save their souls) every Seshadri, Sahasram, and Sadagopan jumped in. Armed with a keyboard and Wikipedia, they analyzed every bit of the conspiracy theories that circulated on the internet with facts about the communication systems of a commercial aircraft.
Free advice was again, free-flowing.
It is this humane tendency that drew a small crowd in front of Varasidhi Vinayagar Kovil on Chettipalayam road. Here was a hapless kid with a giant andah over his head, making it impossible for others to see the distress and agony on his face. (Sanjeev admitted later that he was scared but nonetheless unworried) Everyone convened there was determined that each had the best idea to extricate the vessel.
A small commotion prevailed.
Someone gripped Sanjeev strongly by his shoulders while another tried pulling at the thavalai hard. But wherever the thavalai went, Sanjeev's head followed.
The crowd agreed that it called for a more 'technical' approach. The technical expert came forth and tried gently rocking the thavalai from side to side to see if there was any leeway. Sanjeev's head rocked in harmony.
There was this coppersmith (chembotti) who had newly set shop at the corner of Vellalore road. He sensed an opportunity to show off his skill and earn the goodwill of the community. He presently stepped in with his tools, much to the dismay of Meena who exclaimed "ayyo, en thavalai pochu!"
That is when Mr.18 (we call him Padhinettu) appeared on the scene. He was a family friend and had a real name, but had earned this unique sobriquet from Sanjeev and yours truly. His unique feat was that he chanted Gayathri mantra EIGHTEEN times a day! When he boasted about it, we couldn't but fittingly reward it.
Padhinettu was really concerned. After all, he was Sanjeev's English tutor too! He had this unique edge over all others and he managed to stop everyone and lined up support for his way of doing things. Whether Padhinettu achieved Surya Tejas from his daily chanting or made a Shakespeare out of his pupils, I wouldn't really know.
But he proved then and there that he was good in one thing:
Pulling out a thavalai from a head successfully!
I think it was achieved by the combination of the first two methods given here.
Thus, the thavalai came out of this episode unscathed.
But the ordeal was not over for Sanjeev. With the thavalai secured, Meena launched on a fierce assault with words. The archanai started right in front of the temple even as people dispersed with satisfaction. It paused and continued as each member of the 30A household returned from work.
But the ordeal was not over for Sanjeev. With the thavalai secured, Meena launched on a fierce assault with words. The archanai started right in front of the temple even as people dispersed with satisfaction. It paused and continued as each member of the 30A household returned from work.
All's well that ends well. But poor Sanjeev. His trauma remains the world's most unaddressed grief in the history of accidents.
---Subham---
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