Manjeri – the name does ring a bell. The name hadn’t meant anything to me until the day my father announced that our next school holidays are going to be spent at Manjeri. So it was with growing enthusiasm that I left our boarding school to join my sisters on the journey to an unknown place, not knowing that it was one day going to become the place where my future destiny would be shaped. We, my sisters and me, being brought up in the coastal district of Alappuzha were totally unfamiliar with any hilly place, the only meager idea we had was that provided by our geography text books, My parents for their part were very anxious, because they had started on an endeavor, depositing all their earnings on a land about which they knew very little, in the midst of people of an entirely different upbringing and culture. On arriving home from school, we children were bundled into the car, and immediately after we started on our journey fell asleep.
We arrived in Malabar at the break of dawn and what we saw was our first view of a land full of greenery and mountains. What held our attention was the face of a man smiling and offering to take us around the place, the face of a man Aimootticca, like the character in fiction, Man Friday, still lingers fresh in my memory, even after thirty four years has passed since we first set foot at Manjeri.
The day was to be the beginning of a prolonged relationship. The man was far from handsome, yet he had something about him that mesmerized us. Was it the half-toothed smile? Or was it the aura that spelled honesty? In the many years that I have known him, my first impression about him got no chance for any correction. He captured our hearts right from debut. My parents were busy having to attend to many matters that needed to be competed in the short span of a few days, and we children were left to the custody of Aimootticca and what better was there to do, than roam the countryside. As we set out on our tour, Aimooticca made certain that our feet were protected. He handed each of us a stick, commenting that he bushes were full of vipers and that we should beat the bush in front of us with the stick to frighten away
Any possible snakes that lay hidden in our path. I wondered how he knew, illiterate that he was, that snakes had better vibration senses than visual. Aimootticca lead the trail. The land lay across the north-eastern side of Hajiyar hills and we had to wind our way transecting the slopes to reach the highest point at the top of a rock. The view from the top was breath caching. Aimootticca, pointing a finger in the east direction to asset of hills in the horizon, said that it was the route to Ooty via Nilambur and Gudalloor. He even had the sense of identifying an unknown place by relating it to a place we children knew. In the valley immediately below us lay a building, which he explained was a mosque where people gather to pray. As if sensing that we may not appreciate what he said, he added that there was a Bhagavathy temple on the other slope of the same hill. Gazing at the sun he could even say the exact time of the day. We roamed around a while.
Having had our hearts’ full with the beauty of nature, it was time to have our food and bid farewell to Manjeri only to return later on and settle down at Manjeri even though it was to be only for a short span.
When I reached ninth standard, circumstances had it that I should leave my school at Tangasseri, which was too far away and join the family at Manjeri. The government school at Manjeri wore no pretentious look and had nothing in comparison to the boarding school I came from. The school, a mixed school at the time, was a conspicuous landmark to indicate to anybody coming from Malappuram that they were entering Manjeri, because travelers noticed the school before they did the dilapidated signboard that proclaimed the nomenclature of the place. The Manjeri of the sixties was the main town in Ernad, tucked away between Nilambur in the North and Malappuram in the South and between Calicut in the west and Pandikkad in the east. The heart of the town was the point where all roads met and was land marked by two commercial attractions, Krishnan Nair and sons and Korambayil Cloth mart. The junction though deserted during the day time, became very active by evening, when people, having completed the day’s work, gathered together like a fair.
The most conspicuous building in Manjeri was the Government Hospital which was maintained so well that it was for ever spic and span. Enasu doctor and Unni doctor were the most worshiped persons of the time. Manjeri also had a rest house which was often unoccupied, so much so we wondered whether it was so named because it was one house whish was put to rest. The court at Manjeri, a small one very close to our school, always wore a deserted look because the people had very little to quarrel or complain about. The source of entertainment was Krishna Talkies, whish screened second round of the latest films. But “Kadalariyilla Kaattariyilla alayum thirayudae vaedana” was the only vinyl record they had. They kept playing it repeatedly for many years together. Anybody striding lazily in front of Manjeri café would not be able to resist the temptation offered by the aroma of freshly cooked food. The stout figure of the cahier was enough proof of the quality of food served there.
Only after joining school at Manjeri did I realize that there was more in teaching than what I had experienced so far. We had no school uniform. There was a personal touch to everything and teachers and students an unusual healthy rapport. Even the way students were punished conveyed the full intention of the punishment without hurting the ego of either the students or the teachers. The headmistress Malathy teacher was strict but supportive. Ramayyar sir was a sincere teacher who taught English. I still remember him once commenting “Bhadran, you have a beautiful handwriting”, pausing for a while to drive in his point and then, adding that “but it is very illegible”. My repeated attempts thereafter to improve my handwriting have only helped to make it worse. Then, there was Venugopal sir, who had something about him that conveyed the impression in me that there was some matter that was troubling him, something that had no solution. Yet, his classes were superb and he seemed to murmur that no personal matter would be allowed to come between him and his students.
The method of teaching adopted by our Mathematics teacher was of a different scale. Mathematics, as far as I was concerned was a dry subject with no life in it. But, you should have attended Narayana Pilla sir’s classes to realize how he breathes life into figures and drawings. It is far beyond me to explain how he does it. I can still visualize him, a cane on the table winch I have never seen him put to use, a chalk in his right hand and a duster in the left. Skipping from one corner of the board to the other, from one geometric figure to another and holding the full attention of the class all along. My introduction to phonetics came in the form of Thomas sir. Scarlet Pimpernel still unrolls across my mind like a motion picture, thanks to the way he took classes. Malayalam classes were handled well by Sadasivan sir who had in him the heart of a poet and his classes on Malayalam bore a lyrical touch.
Had it not been for the sincere efforts of such dedicated teachers, I would not have been able to become what I am today.
A bunch of good nature classmates I had at school accompanied me when I joined the NSS College at Manjeri. The college unlike any other, was perched atop a hill. We had to tread uphill to attend classes and this provided us with sufficient exercise. During the rainy season despite holding an umbrella we would get drenched and had no alternative than attending classes in wet clothes. Jayaraj was one person who would more often come without an umbrella and crawl into one of ours’ and get us both wet in the process. Once inside the classes we felt secure under the watchful understanding eyes of our teachers. The college classes, if you could call it that, since n was then a junior college, was surrounded by cashew mango plantations and during summer provided us with relief from the heat during lunch break. It also provided the NCC cadets with ample cover during practicing mock battle. Gopi, our squadron leader was always available for any help. Parameswaran always boasted of being the cadet who wore the best starch dried, ironed stiffest NCC uniform.
The teachers we had were mostly fresh from college and had ample knowledge on the subjects each of them handled. They were also very energetic. Politics was unknown to any student except to those who had to study the subject and even to them all activities were restricted to the curriculum. The way he took classes, Bhaskaran sir’s adorable parasites appeared to possess supernatural behavior, more powerful than the human host they infested.
When I finally had to leave Manjeri to join medical college, I could never forget the love and affection my friends had shown me. I could go on and on with memories kindled by mention of the names of my friends like Sasi, George, Viswan, Aboobaker, Sadanandan, Rajeswaran, Unni etc and would not be able to conclude my feelings. My friends and that people at Manjeri were a sincere loving lot. Many a times I have wished that an opportunity present itself so that I am not able to refuse revisiting that place. I wish I could meet my old friends, at least those who are still there. Even if I do meet, how many will I remember? How many will remember me? I do not know. I am told that the Manjeri of the sixties that I knew has changed. May be the infrastructure has. Whatever changes may happen to the town, I believe that the attitude and spirit of the people of Manjeri will still be and continue to be good.
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