MY husband’s romance with Kerala and keras started long before he met me.
Born to natives of Kerala and brought up in the garden city of Bangalore, he had this great fascination not only for God’s own country but also for God’s own coconut trees. In fact, on our first train journey to Trivandrum, he became very romantic only once – we were passing by the Ashtamuti and he started singing Subramania Bharathi’s Kaani nilam vendum, reeling off a wish list starting with a thatched hut with coconut trees around and ending up with pakkathile oru patnippennu (his wife by his side). I was a little piqued, wondering whether his preferences were also in that order.
When we first bought our plot, it had nine coconut trees; we had to cut down three to build the house. That left us with four in the front and two at the back. But they yielded well and my mother-in-law loved those coconuts because they were bigger than the famished ones we were given by vendors in Bangalore.
For my husband it was an enjoyable experience. It was a mission. ‘45 days over’, he would say and then would go in search of a man to climb the tree.
Men in this ‘business’ are usually available at the kavala (junction) only in the morning and one has to catch them early. Repeated trips would finally succeed and a triumphant, beaming lord of the house would announce: “He is coming tomorrow to pluck the coconuts” Then the wait would begin. After a minimum of seven tomorrows, the man would appear on the scene. It would be a working day and there would be important meetings; but my husband, by now a meek lamb is ready to do pranams.
The man would climb up, pluck the fruits and leave majestically, pocketing a neat sum and a good number of plum coconuts as well.
There were times when things were not so smooth. The man would never turn up, the coconuts would start falling down, and the fussy neighbour would grumble and complain: “Why don’t you cut down the trees? They’re too close to the main road…” We resisted but finally had to give in.
One by one they were brought down and only the two at the back were spared.
My mother-in-law was no more and the consumption levels had also come down (“Not good for heart, you know”), but we could never think of severing the coconut ties altogether.
The man who climbed the trees gave a googly. Only two trees and that too, with not much to pluck — he lost interest.
‘Why persist with these two trees, better cut it down’, he would say.
My husband was at a loss. His expertise lay in launching satellites and not in plucking coconuts. Each man to his job — but when one refused to do one’s job, how can you operate? That clinched the issue. Requests, bargains and finally the agreement — the man appeared on time, brought down the trees, pocketed a neat sum and also some good coconuts and left — forever. I thanked our stars: no longer would we have to wait indefinitely for this man.
‘But who will get you good coconuts? Your father?’ was my husband’s rejoinder.
Yes, my father — he now gives a helping hand whenever needed. As for me, I am searching for the officials who coined the phrase ‘God’s own country’.
