Kenya-bound
One good thing about S.K.Pottekatt is that he sees the
virtuous side first. He becomes dearer to people on that count itself.
He was on his way to Kenya which necessitated several trips
through goods-laden lorries. Pottekkatt used to strike a conversation with the
crew and offer them cigarettes. He was genuinely interested in their lives and
asked several questions. Enroute to Kenya, he invited them to visit India. The
driver and his assistant politely turned down the offer. They said the freedom of their motherland mattered to them most and everything else was secondary.
Pottekatt was impressed to no end. He felt elated. In fact, he was humbled.
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| Arctic Sketches - Kate Johnson |
Pottekkatt got down at a place called Moshi. A police Sub Inspector
named Koshi was going to be his host. Though an officer, the Indian SI enjoys
far less powers (and salary) than his white counterpart. The constables need
not have to salute him. Pottekkatt found his host’s residence locked as Koshy
was on an emergency visit to the nearby village. The drawing room was kept
opened. Pottekkatt was not a wee-bit worried. He kept his luggage there and
made a bee-line to one Kunju Nair’s place. Mr.Nair invited him for food and
overnight stay. Okay, Pottekkaatt said. All impediments were solved this way.
He was prepared to accept everything and it showed. The unexpected setbacks
were resolved pronto. The warmth of human beings was a panacea to all road
blocks.
The next morning SI Koshy arrived and took Pottekkatt to his
office. He sent a word to the bus-stand that the bus to Mombassa should touch
the police-station to collect the VIP passenger. The ways of police were not
subjected to change wherever on earth! The bus arrived sharply at 10 am and a
black gentleman who had booked a ticket by the side of the driver was evicted
to the back row making way to the Indian traveler. Precisely at this time, a
packet containing lunch reached there, sent by Mrs.Nair. That’s a tender mercy
but it went a long way.
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| Castle - David Gentleman 1973 |
By the evening, the bus reached Mombassa where one Mr.Kurup
awaited. Again, networking helped. Kurup worked for an Insurance firm and
Pottekkatt was known to him. He had arranged a room above his office for the
traveler. One needed a permit to travel through Kenya and Pottekkaatt was
waiting. He didn’t have to worry as he was comfortably placed in a room
upstairs. What’s more, homely food was also arranged for the stranger.
Such hospitality is unthinkable these days! Arranging food
and accommodation for a traveler expecting nothing in return.
The next morning Pottekaatt joined his host and the black
servant on their way to market. Quite abruptly, a conversation in Malayalam
fell on his ears. Dhoti-clad men were laughing away for no apparent reason. The
leader was in typical Kerala style, dhoti half-mast and a beedi between lips,
their conversation in accented Malabar Malayalam vented out unmindful of the
surroundings.
Pottekkaatt got elated. In a sudden surge of happiness, he
confronted the people from his own home-town.
Hey, what’s there to laugh so much?
The lightning struck. The foursome were being accosted by a
total stranger rather rudely. The intruder was not wearing any ethnic clothes,
his attire was European but the vibes were positive. The crowd was still in a
state of shock. It took them one full minute to recover.
People from Pottekkaatt’s home-town were skilled-workers
brought in to erect a Tiles factory in Mombassa. One Kanjimeghji Shah from
Bombay had shipped them all the way from Kerala. The poor fellows were given to
understand that Mombassa was a place with no Malayalees! They were not given
any interpreter either. The poor folk didn’t know Hindustani and that made
communication with the Indian diaspora absolutely impossible. Saitji’s men kept
a siege around the workers as if they were convicts.
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| Mt. Charleston - Kate Johnson 2009 |
The home-towners invited Pottekkaatt and Kurup to their
humble abode which the duo accepted without any second thoughts. Off they went
next Sunday to their place for a desi sadya.
The workers were promised four times the salary that they got
at Feroke (Kozhikkode) with food and accommodation taken care of. In fact, a
skilled worker was paid 550 shilling (Rs. 340) per month and the Feroke crowd
was blissfully unaware of it.
Pottekaatt stopped at this point and refrained from
elaborating further. Reading between lines, we could arrive at a conclusion
that Pottekkaatt used his high level contacts and fetched the workers a fair
deal.
No modern traveler would venture the kind of “sting
operation” that Pottekkaatt did. They would keep a safe distance from the ‘desi
crowd’ and often turn indifferent. Here, Pottekkaatt is overwhelmed by a sense
of brotherhood and he just surges ahead.
The sterling quality of
S.K.Pottekkaatt comes to fore at this point. He does not blow his own trumpet. He
does not utter a word about any of his altruist activities. Such selfless
gestures generate a reservoir of goodwill which comes to help in hard times. In
Pottekkaatt’s life, he is saved by a whisker even from death and I have a
feeling that his intrinsic worth has got something to do with that.
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