PEACOCK FEATHERS IN A TERMITE-EATEN TEXT-BOOK- Final Part

Chellaachi

If you happen to meet ‘Chellaachi’ (an acronym for Chellamma Chechi ) , chance is that you’ll never keep her in memory. She has such common features. Dressed in blouse and lungi, decoloured and torn due to over usage ...slender malnourished frame….two teeth protruding outside from the front row. Yet she had the  grace which made her dearer to people. She was a coir worker, ratt-operator, to be precise. She rotated the device by hand at variable speeds. Her day started when perumeen (Venus) made its appearance at the sky during the pre-dawn hours. Chellaachi and her peers had almost entirely depended on nature to have an idea about time. She used to get ready in less than half an hour and started the daily grind by day-break! Sweeping the sprawling front and back-yards of a couple of dominant households of the village was the first activity. (The schedule continued even after she turned seventy).

Muralidharan K.

Chellaachi’s husband Valladan died many decades back. He was almost immobile on account of his various illnesses and Chellachi was looking after him. Still he had the nerve to go out when the government offered freebies to men undergoing vasectomy operation. There was of course the prime-attraction, the cash-component which he couldn't resist and lesser offers like a plastic bucket and a generous gift of condoms. Valladan kept the money and bucket  for himself and distributed the condoms that the government had given him. The couple had three children, Ponnappan, Jagathran and Ponnamma with a couple of year’s difference in age in between. Jagathran had a huge head oversized belly, thin hands and weak legs almost unable to carry his torso. He was perpetually hungry and even ate soil when nobody was watching him. It was a disease.  With unkempt hair and unclean bodies, Ponnappan and Jagathran watched us playing. The brothers were unwelcome to our fold. To add insult to injury, we made fun of them.

Ponnappa, shall I write alphabets on your legs….Hari…Sree…

His skin was so dry that if some pointed object had a brush over it, it made a distinct mark.

Jagathran died an early death. His meagre body was kept on a plantain-leaf. Chellaachi cried non-stop, almost uncontrollably.

Muralidharan K.

Chellaachi and other working women always had to face the bitter side of life. They were not enlightened or wise people but they never complained. In contrast my mother with a far better upbringing made her displeasure known, always. I often wondered why Chellaachy didn’t get angry like my mom. She should have, in fact. I haven’t heard her telling any lousy remarks about others either. Including her employer Sarada, the entrepreneur-cum-worker of the four-woman coir spinning unit. Just to ward off the monotony of work, they often invented spicy stories about men and women of the village.  Who is love with whom….who is having an extra marital affair with whom…who got red-handed in the act and so on. Chellaachy never got amused. In fact, she disliked gossiping.

Saradechy finds fault in everything, even in a flying bird..

She once told me.

Chellaachy and people like her always listened and never reacted. A deadly indifference in matters directly affecting their lives. She earned Rs.22 as wages in her heydays for the nine-hour grind. Health problems were too common. Skin, lungs and bones were permanent sources of worry. They didn’t have any sort of Social-security net. No betterment of working conditions. No rise. No retirement benefits. No, nothing. And still they didn’t complain. They worked, took care of their husbands and children and cared little for their own existence.

Political parties often declared stoppage of work and Chellaachy would cool off her heels sitting at home. She never failed to participate in striking. If you ask her why, she would draw a blank.

Oh…fine..

Chellaachy , do you have anything to eat?

She would grin again with all those disarrayed teeth. She was going to bear with this one too. After several rounds of hullaballoo the government would announce a rise in minimum-wages of Rs.2 per day.

For Chellaachy, it is an investment opportunity and there was no question of wavering regarding the parking of money. The kudukka was her safety vault. As her booty grew to a formidable hundred, someone in dire straits was destined to approach her with a pressing demand. ..hospitalisation, house-repair or a business purpose soft-loan . More often than not, Chellaachy’s formidable hundred would vanish into thin air.

Untitled- K.G Subramanyam- gouache and crayon on paper

I met her recently and she was still active in spite of her advanced age. Keeping afloat on her own. During the evenings she gave company to a widow in the neighbourhood.

A hurriedly prepared dinner for both with fish curry , rice, rasam  and then its serial time. Chellaachy squats on the floor but never really watches the mini screen. She is in a quasi-state between sleep and wakefulness.

A completely black and white world where colours have no significance.