The Manjadikurru Tales
Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring, rang the bell signalling the beginning of 40 days of “no-gyaan”. The adults preferred to call it - Summer Vacations. Rakesh and Dino, my partners in juvenile crime and my best buds in Class 2B were going to be spending their vacation watching the mercury go up in the hottest time of the season in Kuwait, but I was headed to tropical nirvana. Not to the land of the Salsa but to the kingdom of Toddy - Kerala, the land of my forefathers. A good section of the contributors to my gene pool still lived there, headed by the patriarch of the family, my grandpa - Appachan.
“Lijuuuuuuuuuu, leave that car in your room or you’re not getting on the flight” was Amma’s prompt reply albeit the flared nostrils when I asked her if my “domestic” partner could hop on the flight with us. It was heart-wrenching. Tell her to leave Appa behind for this trip and she’d know how I felt. We shared an emotional moment nevertheless and I reported to the living room for final roll call.
I was way too young to admire how hot the lady at the immigration window was but today as I reminisce about the past, I blame it on puberty for arriving so late. I always wonder what these blokes try to figure out by flipping through 32 pages of the passport. A solid hour of “cardio” around the airport with mom following closely behind, we were finally on the plane. Back in the 80’s, in flight entertainment was quite a thing. It was a flying movie hall, with free booze. 300 odd mallus sigh and laugh in unison when Mohanlal or Mammuka whipped their magic on screen.
I missed the landing because I was one of the many “men” who had passed out. Teacher’s Scotch did the trick for most of them but it was sheer exhaustion in my case. I was astounded by the sights and the sounds of the airport while Appa was labouring himself with the luggage. “Gold, Cash, Whiskey, Cigarettes or VCR’s?”, asked Mr.Potbellied Customs officer waiting for his pound of flesh but Appa had a gleeful NO for him. Out we came to be welcomed by Appa’s bro and his wife’s kisses. “Ente Daivemee, look at you Liju, you’re all grown up now”….Grown up? I had another 20 years of vertical growth and a lifetime of girth enlargement left, but anyways. I loved her, for all the goodies that were awaiting me at her place.
Flash forward the ride home and the taxi ride to Appachan’s place the next day, I was a live wire. The kids around came and before I knew I had a new gang. “The Manjadikurru Gang”. The Malyalam-English dictionary might define it as the red seeds of a tree found predominantly in the southern part of India, but I beg to differ. This was the “Facebook” of the tots back then. Jijo, had 623 of them and that earned him the title of the leader of the pack. He was the “Brad Pitt” to Anjali, Tina and Shobha. And the “T.G.Ravi or Amrish Puri” to Roy and Bijo. You have to hand it to him, he had the coveted Manjadikurru with a yellow spot. They tell me that hordes gather outside his class at St.Mary’s Primary to get a glimpse of this gem.
The manjadikurru collection was a must among the kids of the state. These kids carried lunchboxes filled with the fruit of their “weekend” labor to school every day. A spherically perfect seed with a hint of another color was your trump card to the rankings. You can take the kids away from the manjadikurrus, but not the manjadikurrus away from the kids was the folklore of the land. Every neighborhood formed these gangs. I was now a part of the Pullad P.O gang. It also meant that I had to work overnight to build my collection. Shobha, the meek yet cute one was my mentor. The only manajadikurru yielding tree in the area was in Jijo’s backyard. The gang spent a great deal of their vacation hanging out at Jijo’s. Shobha and me set out on a collection spree, and I frantically picked up every red seed around, only to be reprimanded by my mentor. “The round, neat ones without any edges are the only ones you pick. Not thissssss”. We spent a good week and a half doing this, only to return home every evening to be bullied by Amma and my Grandmom for the filth that accompanied me.
“You cannot take the manjadikurrus from my house anymore, These are all mine”, roared the 3 ft Jijo on a Sunday morning when I went there. The new legislation sent me running to Amma all teary eyed. I wasn’t crying, I was sobbing!!! The rest of the pack followed suit, but also comforted me. “Why???” was the only thing I asked. Apparently Tina, had found the most beautifully perfect PINK manjadikurru last evening, which catapulted her to levels of fame Jijo could not even dream about. The local news circuit was HOT with this news. I missed the event because I had to go meet Amma’s second cousin’s family who lived a stone’s throw away. Jijo banned us from his backyard, and that was the end of our “careers”. We were Doomed!! I could not meet up with anyone from the neighboring streets because we had nothing new the next time we meet.
I had a week left before we caught the flight back to Kuwait, and this meant I had to leave a loser. A kid smothered in Yardley talcum powder who could not build a decent collection of Manjadikurrus!!! What would they call me??? The guy with 28 manajdikurrus??
This called for a brainstorming meeting. Bijo and Tina suggested that we complain to Jijo’s mom, but it was then that Anjali mentioned about Jijo’s love for “foreign” chocolates. This was the Holy Spirit taking possesion of Anjali - What a brilliant idea? I was the NRI and I had tons of chocolates in Amma’s luggage.
“Amma, we should go to Jijo’s house and give him some chocolates. He’s not a bad guy, maybe he’s just worried we did not give him chocolates” was how I coaxed Amma into visiting Jijo’s house. This was just a part of the plan. The gang had planned to raid his backyard when I was in there gifitng my “best friend” some chocolates. Shobha promised me that she would share half of her bounty with me. This was the only “make hay while the sun shines” chance in our Manjadikurru Chronicles. It had to be a foolproof execution.
“Hi, my son tells me that Jijo is a good friend of his” said Amma when she handed that brat a whole tin of Ferrero Rochers. The brat pack had by then crossed the enemy lines. The Ammas had sunken into a conversation quite soon, but the “enemy” was poker faced throughout. He kept playing with the chocolates while watching Popeye the Sailor man on TV. I went and sat beside him like nothing had happened. In the mean while the gang had inflicted maximum damage on enemy shores. They swept through his backyard for anything that even suggested RED, like a hungry flock of hens. Mission Accomplished. I had a princely tally of 187 manajdikurrus by the end of my holidays, and also made a ton of friends. The neighborhood kids were enamored by my feat. I mean who thought that a kid from Kuwait who could barely manage to tread through the bushes without complaining about the thorns that seemed to only prick him, collect a respectable amount of these seeds!
I don’t know of the events that ensued after this stealth attack because I was back in scorching HOT Kuwait by then. The next time we visited my grandparents Jijo had moved to another part of town and the rest of the gang didn’t quite bother about the NRI kid with his arsenal of “phoren” chocolates. They had graduated to cricket and football leaving the manjadikurru’s to the lill ones. It still intrigues me today of how one little RED seed could form a community, and to the extents we would go for recognition, but this lill Manjadikurru gang - I’d always remember.
“Lijuuuuuuuuuu, leave that car in your room or you’re not getting on the flight” was Amma’s prompt reply albeit the flared nostrils when I asked her if my “domestic” partner could hop on the flight with us. It was heart-wrenching. Tell her to leave Appa behind for this trip and she’d know how I felt. We shared an emotional moment nevertheless and I reported to the living room for final roll call.
I was way too young to admire how hot the lady at the immigration window was but today as I reminisce about the past, I blame it on puberty for arriving so late. I always wonder what these blokes try to figure out by flipping through 32 pages of the passport. A solid hour of “cardio” around the airport with mom following closely behind, we were finally on the plane. Back in the 80’s, in flight entertainment was quite a thing. It was a flying movie hall, with free booze. 300 odd mallus sigh and laugh in unison when Mohanlal or Mammuka whipped their magic on screen.
I missed the landing because I was one of the many “men” who had passed out. Teacher’s Scotch did the trick for most of them but it was sheer exhaustion in my case. I was astounded by the sights and the sounds of the airport while Appa was labouring himself with the luggage. “Gold, Cash, Whiskey, Cigarettes or VCR’s?”, asked Mr.Potbellied Customs officer waiting for his pound of flesh but Appa had a gleeful NO for him. Out we came to be welcomed by Appa’s bro and his wife’s kisses. “Ente Daivemee, look at you Liju, you’re all grown up now”….Grown up? I had another 20 years of vertical growth and a lifetime of girth enlargement left, but anyways. I loved her, for all the goodies that were awaiting me at her place.
Flash forward the ride home and the taxi ride to Appachan’s place the next day, I was a live wire. The kids around came and before I knew I had a new gang. “The Manjadikurru Gang”. The Malyalam-English dictionary might define it as the red seeds of a tree found predominantly in the southern part of India, but I beg to differ. This was the “Facebook” of the tots back then. Jijo, had 623 of them and that earned him the title of the leader of the pack. He was the “Brad Pitt” to Anjali, Tina and Shobha. And the “T.G.Ravi or Amrish Puri” to Roy and Bijo. You have to hand it to him, he had the coveted Manjadikurru with a yellow spot. They tell me that hordes gather outside his class at St.Mary’s Primary to get a glimpse of this gem.
The manjadikurru collection was a must among the kids of the state. These kids carried lunchboxes filled with the fruit of their “weekend” labor to school every day. A spherically perfect seed with a hint of another color was your trump card to the rankings. You can take the kids away from the manjadikurrus, but not the manjadikurrus away from the kids was the folklore of the land. Every neighborhood formed these gangs. I was now a part of the Pullad P.O gang. It also meant that I had to work overnight to build my collection. Shobha, the meek yet cute one was my mentor. The only manajadikurru yielding tree in the area was in Jijo’s backyard. The gang spent a great deal of their vacation hanging out at Jijo’s. Shobha and me set out on a collection spree, and I frantically picked up every red seed around, only to be reprimanded by my mentor. “The round, neat ones without any edges are the only ones you pick. Not thissssss”. We spent a good week and a half doing this, only to return home every evening to be bullied by Amma and my Grandmom for the filth that accompanied me.
“You cannot take the manjadikurrus from my house anymore, These are all mine”, roared the 3 ft Jijo on a Sunday morning when I went there. The new legislation sent me running to Amma all teary eyed. I wasn’t crying, I was sobbing!!! The rest of the pack followed suit, but also comforted me. “Why???” was the only thing I asked. Apparently Tina, had found the most beautifully perfect PINK manjadikurru last evening, which catapulted her to levels of fame Jijo could not even dream about. The local news circuit was HOT with this news. I missed the event because I had to go meet Amma’s second cousin’s family who lived a stone’s throw away. Jijo banned us from his backyard, and that was the end of our “careers”. We were Doomed!! I could not meet up with anyone from the neighboring streets because we had nothing new the next time we meet.
I had a week left before we caught the flight back to Kuwait, and this meant I had to leave a loser. A kid smothered in Yardley talcum powder who could not build a decent collection of Manjadikurrus!!! What would they call me??? The guy with 28 manajdikurrus??
This called for a brainstorming meeting. Bijo and Tina suggested that we complain to Jijo’s mom, but it was then that Anjali mentioned about Jijo’s love for “foreign” chocolates. This was the Holy Spirit taking possesion of Anjali - What a brilliant idea? I was the NRI and I had tons of chocolates in Amma’s luggage.
“Amma, we should go to Jijo’s house and give him some chocolates. He’s not a bad guy, maybe he’s just worried we did not give him chocolates” was how I coaxed Amma into visiting Jijo’s house. This was just a part of the plan. The gang had planned to raid his backyard when I was in there gifitng my “best friend” some chocolates. Shobha promised me that she would share half of her bounty with me. This was the only “make hay while the sun shines” chance in our Manjadikurru Chronicles. It had to be a foolproof execution.
“Hi, my son tells me that Jijo is a good friend of his” said Amma when she handed that brat a whole tin of Ferrero Rochers. The brat pack had by then crossed the enemy lines. The Ammas had sunken into a conversation quite soon, but the “enemy” was poker faced throughout. He kept playing with the chocolates while watching Popeye the Sailor man on TV. I went and sat beside him like nothing had happened. In the mean while the gang had inflicted maximum damage on enemy shores. They swept through his backyard for anything that even suggested RED, like a hungry flock of hens. Mission Accomplished. I had a princely tally of 187 manajdikurrus by the end of my holidays, and also made a ton of friends. The neighborhood kids were enamored by my feat. I mean who thought that a kid from Kuwait who could barely manage to tread through the bushes without complaining about the thorns that seemed to only prick him, collect a respectable amount of these seeds!
I don’t know of the events that ensued after this stealth attack because I was back in scorching HOT Kuwait by then. The next time we visited my grandparents Jijo had moved to another part of town and the rest of the gang didn’t quite bother about the NRI kid with his arsenal of “phoren” chocolates. They had graduated to cricket and football leaving the manjadikurru’s to the lill ones. It still intrigues me today of how one little RED seed could form a community, and to the extents we would go for recognition, but this lill Manjadikurru gang - I’d always remember.
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