From: mece21x@elroy.uh.edu (Yesudas, Michael)
Subject: The Malayali Ego
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Organization: University of Houston
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1992 16:55:00 GMT

The topic is a little complex. For all those Malayalis (the ones with and
without ego problems) who have carried themselves to the extent of showing
that they have much more wealth than they actually have.

Hariharan is a very sadharana chayakkadakkaran right in the vicinity of
Bombay V.T. station. And everytime I used to go there, his shop used to 
be filled with those who were taking a break from the busy Bombay life, sipping
a steaming cup of chaya and reading news papers ranging from "Sakal" to
"MAthrubhumi". The aroma of Munnar tea diffused with the burnt smell of onions
is a part of the receiving committee for his makeshift restaurant....

"Aplelya kaay Pahije?" His favorite question to find out the ethnic origin
of customer. Hariharan believes very firmly that even if the topi named
after the father of the nation is missing, he could still belong to the 
34% Maharashtrians who reside in Bombay. Anyhow if the reply to the question
does not come in the vernacular, he inspects other possible channels like
the "Bumbiyya Hindi" for communication.

The first time I went there was because Geetanjali Express leaves at an 
unearthly hour like 6:00 A.M. from Bombay V.T. and so little choice is left
other than to cut things fine by travelling from Ghatkopar in the morning rush
hours of Bombay, but to spent the night in the station. And by the time it
was 2:30 A.M. I felt the intense desire to get out of the waiting room and go
outside and wet my throat with a chaya...

As I was handing in the money he looked at me. A blank look. The same look
I saw on everyone's face after the Control Theory Exam. Then he went back 
into the inner depths of his small cash box and pulled out a fifty paisa 
coin and placed it on the dirty and scratched glass sheet full of chaya stains
and looked up again. 

"Nattukarana?" He had found my ethnic background in no time, though I thought
that I could melt into the crowds of Bombay. Even when I fumbled to give
an answer, he continued "evidunna?" Now I did not have a choice, I said
"Thiruvananthapuram". "Oh, ente moothavan kettiyethu avidunna" "Attingal,
Ariyumo?"

The "muRukkan" in his mouth was coming to a stage where I was reminded of
the lathe when it runs without cutting oil. Not being in the busy hours of
the day, he came out, grabbed a glass of water and poured it at 90 degrees 
into the mouth, and after sufficient mixing and turbulence had been done,
he spat it out in a parabolic profile and said "ente veedu Kollatha, Paravur
ennu parayum". In anticipation of what the next question would be, I asked
"Nattil povarundo?" 

"Hey, Njan naadu vittitu pathu varshamayi, Ini pokan pattilla" At the end 
of the sentence my whole face had turned into an interogative mark. But the
question was not required. He continued "Avarude ellam vicharam njan Gulfil
aaNenna, Ini enikku vayya njan chayakadakkaran aanennu parayam".

The conversation ended abruptly as the next costumer called. I turned around 
and while leaving I smiled at a small board which says "Veendum Varika".

I have met Hariharan a number of times after that, he still remains a bachelor
though 36, waiting for the right one to come along. And he works at an average
of 16 hours in the shop, the rest for watching an occassional movie and 
a sip of London Pilsner, not to forget the Bhel at Juhu etc.  

I am still stuck with the fact as to why our people hide their true professions
and the real whereabouts about them, Is it the ego? Or is it our dignity?
Maybe somebody out here can explain.

However Hariharan never had a door to his shop. He never felt the need for one.

Sincerely
Michael

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|  Michael Yesudas         |  The control of the means of production   |
|  Mechanical Engineering  |  of wealth is the absolute control of     |
|  University of Houston   |  human life itself                        |
|  mece21x@jetson.uh.edu   |                    --   Hilaire Belloc    |
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Newsgroups: alt.culture.kerala