ALL DAYS ARE SUNDAYS

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ALL DAYS ARE SUNDAYS

T. Unnikrishnan

Notion Press
5 Muthu Kalathy Street, Triplicane, Chennai - 600005 First Published by Notion Press Copyright T. Unnikrishnan 2013 All Rights Reserved. ISBN: 9789383185955

This book is sold subject to condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or hired out, circulated and no reproduction in any form, in whole or in part (except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews) may be made without written permission of the author. This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility for any inadvertent errors.

This book is dedicated to the sacred memory of my journalist father, the late Mr. K. Madhavan Nair, retired chief reporter of the Madras Mail, and my mother, Mrs Parukutty Madhavan Nair, social worker, pioneer in the mid day meal scheme for school children, and former secretary of the All India Womens Association Adyar, Madras.

This book is dedicated to my wife Padmaja with out whose help this book wouldn't have been possible.

CONTENTS
PREFACE MELODIES AND MEMORIES A FRIEND IN NEED BHAVANI GITANJALI THE REBUFF THE CUPIDS WAYS THE FIANCE INGRID THE CORDIAL INVITATION THE ARTIST AND MODELS SAINTS AND SINNERS HIS HOLINESS OUTWITTED THE DOUBLE STANDARDS THE LIMELIGHT THE EVE TEASER TO CATCH A THIEF THE PENALTY CORNER THE ROCKING CHAIR THE MONKS GHOST THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TABLE THE CARNIVAL i 1 6 15 24 34 39 44 49 55 58 63 68 74 78 84 88 92 101 108 114 121 128

THE PETTY THIEF THE NEMISES THE HUMBLE PIE A FACE IN THE CROWD THE BENEVOLENCE THE RED ROSE THE MAD RUSH THE EXAM FEVER THE HELPING HANDS THE GIGGLES IN THE OFFICE THE PERFECT MATCH THE MEMORIES OF ANOTHER DAY WHAT IS IN A NAME? THE GOOD SAMARITANS THE MAGICIAN THE ACCOUNTANT THE COUNTENANCE OF GOD WHERE MY LOVE HAS GONE THE TICKET HELLO, HELLO THE BOOMERANG ODE TO AN OLD CAR THE TOWERING MONUMENT LOST AND FOUND THE DEITY THE OFFICE SHYLOCK

136 140 144 152 157 169 173 178 181 186 191 197 203 207 212 220 223 228 235 237 242 247 253 260 268 272

THE REPENTENCE THE STAIRCASE THE ACTOR

278 281 285

PREFACE
ALL DAYS BECOME HOLIDAYS The truth dawned on me lying in the hospital bed when my attempts to speak became a Herculean task. I had just suffered a paralytic stroke following a heart attack..I was 45, without a job or savings to fall back on, having failed miserably in business. My children were still in school. The future that stared at me was frightful. Mercifully, I was in a sort of coma. When I surfaced, my wife wanted me to identify her in order to asses the damage to the brain. An impish mood gripped me and I replied that she was Toontoon, the fat female comedian of Bollywood of yesteryear! My wife smiled with relief that I had not lost my trait to pull her leg, which was a welcome sign, and began to laugh. I was feeling better, perhaps, having discovered the healing power of humour! I was shifted to a hospital in another town to avail better treatment where I was perplexed to notice the sympathetic expression of visitors who came into the room as they read the chart hanging in the footboard of the bed. My mothers worried expression confirmed that something was awfully wrong. The suspense was over when my mother showed me the chart in which was written Alcoholic. That was when I recalled having replied, Yes to the query, Have you ever consumed alcoholic beverages? When the duty nurse was preparing my case history. I explained this to my mother adding, Thank God she didnt write Drunkard. Both of us had a hearty laugh.
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The physiotherapist, a kind middle-aged lady got into the action soon. She was tickling my sole with a plastic knife and looking at my face. Seeing my puzzled expression, she helpfully tried to convey, in the best English that she could muster, Sir, I am only finding out if your legs have any sense. I obliged her by saying, Yes madam, they are quite sensational! When Dr. Nayak came on his rounds, she informed him of the condition of her patient faithfully, Doctor, his legs are quite sensational. The doctor, who had recently returned from England, winked at me and said, Mr. Unnikrishnan, in this town, it doesnt matter, if your English is bad as long as your Scotch is good! Though it was an oft repeated joke it was so timely that I enjoyed the moment! The exercise sessions in the Physiotherapy Department were boring and monotonous More than moving my paralyzed limbs, it was the effort to hold my lungi in that position with only one hand which bothered me. The normally serious physio tried to humour me. Mr. Unni, you look gorgeous wearing the lungi as if you were in a kimono. I replied smiling, Madam, actually I am in a dilemma. The problem was solved by getting me an elastic waist belt. Things went off well, till one day, when the tightly held belt worked loose and took off like a missile, landing on an unsuspecting patient who was deeply involved in moving her hands up and down, and she screamed which evoked laughter everywhere. I, too, joined the laughter, wondering why there was so much laughter for an ordinary incident, hardly aware that the joke was on me who was standing there minus the lungi, only in my underwear. The physiotherapist wasnt amused one bit. She cautioned my wife, You must bring
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PREFACE

him wearing panties only [the good lady had actually meant that I should wear pants for the exercise sessions]. But my wife was hurt and muttered under her breath, Look at the cheek of the woman, asking me to go there only wearing panties! My progress was slow. There were some exercises which I could perform only in the sitting position. The physio was naturally disappointed and chided me, It is because you are very lazy that your condition is not improving, now please lie down, let me see how good you are in bed! Needless to say, I had plenty to laugh about; the blow had already been softened. I realized that I could find humor in the ordinary day to day life in the hospital, beginning from the ticklish sponge bath given by a female nurse to the romance in the night between the female nurses and the ward boys, totally oblivious of this silent spectator. I began to consider my life as a comical drama in which I was the hero, comedian, as well as the rest of the cast. When once out of the hospital, and back home, I had only my thoughts as companions and realized pleasantly that if they were interesting, life could never be boring. With time hanging heavily, it was natural for me to indulge myself in traveling down the memory lane, where people in my life from the past began to form characters in new stories that were taking shape in my mind. The experience of my life as a paralytic under house arrest taught me valuable lessons. For example, life is too precious a gift from God [even if it is to be spent in a wheelchair] to fritter away in worries, fears, anxieties tensions, petty jealousies dogmas and fanatisms etc. I realized that every day spent above the ground was a bonus due to the divine grace and that I was aciii

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tually fortunate enough to have experienced misfortune, because I could feel the soothing hands of the divine guiding me through different obstacles. That was when I learned to operate a personal computer with one hand and decided to involve myself in creative activities utilizing the leisure forced on me, usefully. All days had become holidays for me, free to do whatever I wanted. The result is the birth of this book All Days Are Sundays consisting of short stories highlighting the melancholy of nostalgia sprinkled with a bit of humour for some light reading based on the sum total experiences of my life. Therefore, you will find that in almost all stories, the central characters of the stories in this book reminisce their past. All characters in this book are fictitious, born out of the fertile imagination of the author, drawing from the various experiences in life. Incidentally, the two miraculous events mentioned in the stories, the towering monument and the deity are based on real ones. I fondly hope that the book will help the readers to carry on their lives with faith and courage, cheerfully. T. Unnikrishnan B.E.M.S.E.I 18, Vidyapeeta road, BSK III Stage, Bangalore-560085

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I
1 MELODIES AND MEMORIES
The flat was full of noisy children deeply involved in animated discussion.Umesh sat in a corner listening to them talking about the movie Parineetha and its star Vidya Balan. These days the children are precocious, thought Umesh. How lucky they are being able to watch movies on the TV in the comfort of their drawing rooms, unlike in his days of booking tickets in line, standing in a long queue and later sweating it out in the stuffy old cinema theaters watching the movie on a small screen! The doorbell rang. It was Subodh from the flat above, who appeared to be very popular with the children who crowded around him as he waved in the air and materialized chocolates that had been cleverly concealed in his palm. It was only a momentary distraction for the youngsters who got back to their discussions. Seeing Umesh, Subodh, who was of the same age group as Umesh, said, Umesh Saab, let us go out for a walk, we have no business to be here on a lovely evening cooped up with children. Soon they were walking on the sands of the Juhu beach, Subodh became nostalgic and said, You know Saab, we are passing through the locations where many song sequences for movies were shot in the melodious fifties. Umesh added quickly, Like

ALL DAYS ARE SUNDAYS

Taxi driver, Jaal, Baazi etc., and further added, want me to reel off more? Subodh said smiling, Saab, you really fox me with your knowledge of old Hindi movie songs, that too being from the south! And he said, I am glad that I have a companion to share my taste for old songs and movies, I cannot enjoy the modern film songs because they have no melody or meaning at best they are just rhythmic beats with crude lyrics and jarring orchestras. I feel so hurt when people make fun of me for my tastes in old songs, and he added with a deep sigh, Things have changed for the worse. In those days, we had songs which were sheer poems set to melodious music, but now they are dead. Umesh smiled and said, You are wrong Subodh, they are not dead, let me tell you the hilarious experience of my friend Vinod, which would lift you from your melancholy and change your notion that melody and poetry are dead, and he continued, this is what Vinod told me on a lovely evening recently in the club. Vinod, Umesh said, fondly recalled one Kalanidhi in the college hostel in a small town in Tamil Nadu where he had studied decades ago. He [Kalanidhi] was dark with bulging eyes distorted by thick glasses and a smiling expression always, because of his buck teeth .Though Kalanidhi could indeed be called ugly, he was artistic in his own way as if to justify his name which meant treasure of art! . Once during the hostel day function, Kalanidhi performed a dance wearing a T-shirt and a lungi, striking the typical Bharathanatyam pose with hands on hips, legs thumping rhythmically to the music,
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the head jerking sideways while his eyes swam like that of a bewitching temptress imitating the dance number in a popular movie that was running in the town. There was a hint of a blush in his dark cheeks. It was so hilarious, that the act brought down the house with cat calls and whistles and cheers. There was also a song beginning with the words kalaye in that movie, which had become a great hit with the students the captivating romantic song sequence depicted the love torn hero on knees wooing the heroine, comparing her to a golden idol sculptured exquisitely as a great work of art, and so on. The song had made its way into the young hearts so effectively that the students would burst out singing the song at the slightest hint of happiness. You could hear the song in the verandahs, corridors, the bathrooms and everywhere in the hostel.It had become a habit almost bordering on addiction for many of them. Once, in a jubilant mood, Vinod also burst into full-throated singing of Kalaye, but quite unexpectedly came face to face with the warden who smiled and said, go on son, express your happiness and join the rest. That was one of the most embarrassing moments of his hostel life Later in life, Vinod also retained the trait of singing Kalaye at unexpected moments as an absentminded, involuntary expression of joy. He would shout the song to his hearts content in the bathroom, or hum it elsewhere in the privacy of his home when it became an uncontrollable urge, which he had to control on many occasions to avoid awkward, embarrassing situations. Once, Vinod happened to visit one of his friends in a hill resort in Tamil Nadu after his retirement
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from active employment and began to enjoy himself in the company of his bosom friend. One morning, he was overcome by a jubilant mood fresh after a good nights sleep and was reading the newspaper, sipping a steaming cup of chai (tea, popular as Scotch, coined by his erstwhile hostel mates), when he heard his friends wife calling out, Kalaye! Get on with your work of dusting and wiping. Within minutes, the young maid servant Kalai began to sweep the room where Vinod was sitting .The maid servants name had triggered off the urge in Vinod to sing the song Kalaye, gripped by the melodious mood. He would have sung the song in high pitch if he were to be in his home. But now, he was feeling uneasy as he had to control the surging desire. . Try however much, the song lingered on the tip of his tongue while the maid remained in the room. That was when he began to whistle the song happily. He chuckled to himself, thinking that if the girl Kalai knew the lyrics of the song he was whistling, which were O Kalai, my love! You are a perfect golden idol sculptured exquisitely as a great work of art, she would have misunderstood the old man as a lecher and given him a liberal treatment with the broomstick! Now, however, there was no such danger, because the song was composed years before she was even born, But still, did he notice the maid blush just a wee bit? .He got the answer later when passing by the kitchen he heard Kalai speaking to her mistress, You know maam, your visiting uncle was whistling my favorite song kalaye, which is frequently being featured in the program of old movie songs on the TV. Vinod was deeply embarrassed and quietly tiptoed to his room thinking that old songs are like memories, they never die! And he burst into a
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ALL DAYS ARE SUNDAYS