The Whistle....

He tucked up the mud-stained dhoti and said,"There is no equal to him.Rajnikanth has amazing style.Nobody in Malayalam films can ever be so stylish.He flicks the cigarette into that air and it lands right on his lips."Kochukunju would then go onto clear some part of our courtyard infested with weeds and wild grass.He would of course go onto describe MGR and Rajnikanth,even Vijay and Ajith,revealing the obsession for Tamil films.

What really attracted him was the kind of money involved."they spend crores on their films.Their stunts are so grand.How much does a Malayalam film survive on.They just don't spend the money".For us the two siblings, who kept ourselves abreast of all the occurences at tinsel-world,he would have a query,a regular one,"mone(son),how much do you think Rajnikanth charges per film?"There would be a gleamin his eyes when we would answer that it amounted to a few crores.We would realise that he would go on and on about this dream world of his if we were to stay on in the vicinity.We would abruptly take his leave.

Kochukunju would stay there tying his dhoti,tucking it up and untying it again.There would be an occasional tryst with the tool,lazily draggin the grass and accumulating it into a heap.Amma would be cross with him for this.Ahe would often say,"He's trying to delay the work.He wants to come tomorrow and repeat this process of his."How right she was!He was so very lazy---the lean,puny Kochukunju,quite older than my father.But he'd been a regular at my home for more than two decades now.Long before my brother and I were born.

There have been times when we decided we had had enough of him.We would send word for a replacement.But it seemed Kochukunju was more dependable as far as attendnce was concerned.He stroll in with the characteristic phoney cough and a subsequent whistle.He would call out,"Chechiye!Ammamo!"---an address to my mother though she was more than a decade younger to him.He would sometimes address her as 'mol',which meant daughter.In India,Where ever unknown man on the street was referred to as 'uncle',Kochukunju our companion who talked of films was addressed by name.Our topic would remain the same,"I watch only Tamil films.What do these Malayalam films have in them?Look at Mohanlal---he's becoming fatter by the day.He can't dance and do stunts.I hear he is an alcoholic."

His job was to clear the courtyard,plant plantains in the field,prop up the coconut trees and apply fertilizers to them.If my mother were around to supervise,his job would be over in a day.His job done he'd go home,probably have a bath,and promenade towards the junction,his face alive with talcum powder.He'd walk over to Ali's teashop where he'd have his customary dosa and tea.Unlike other men of the locality,he never called on the toddy shop.On the contrary,he'd tell my mother of the deeds other men accomplished after drinking toddy.My mother labelled him the local newspaper;he'd furnish all the events that took place in the interval that succeeded his last visit.He'd suggest that Raghu,a blind man in the neighbourhood,wasnt blind at all and that he'd been faking it all along so that he could earn his bread and butter without having to earn.He'd also report that Ajith,the rickshaw driver,beat his newly wed wife after consuming toddy.He'd report property disputes among Charlie and his brother Roy.He'd go on on unfolding slander and gossip,even though my mother was in the least interested.

During the monsoons,everybody would be reluctant to offer work to manual labourers of Kochukunju's `genre.The work would probably be left stranded midway or wouldnt commence at all owing t the incessant downpours.For kochukunju it would be a tough time though the four members of his family earned.As I came to know quite belatedly,his family cared little for him.He'd slog himself to our veranda and ask for money.Money was provided,rather tentatively,though not as much as he would have liked.He'd reveal his plans to plant more plantains,pepper and the like.We'd be quite indifferent to these prospects,though he'd promise to come as soon as there was some respite from the rains.And he certainly would keep his promise.He would stroll in with the characteristic phoney cough and a subsequent whistle.

In December 2005,when Kochukunju came to my home,the phoney cough and the whistle were absent.His hair was unkempt and so was his beard.He told my mother that he'd had a bout of fever for the past few days.he was provided tea as he always was.He promised to come for work the following week.Amma informed him that we'd be off to spend Christmas at my Grandfather's place.With murky eyes,he replied that he'd be back in early January.
December died and so did 2005.The new year set in-2006.it was a time to clear the old and plant the new.The weds grew tall and dense.It was imperative that kochukunju be called for.we expected him to come.

Then on the 7th of Jauary,a host of members of the locality,arrived at my home to inform us of the passing away of 60yr old Kochukunju.Thatwe were apalled would be no exaggeration.The cause of his death(though it mattered little now),from we could understand(or couldn't),from second-hand reports is still rather blurred.What we cold confirm was that the doctors has diagnosed that the onset of the disease must have taken place atleast a couple of years ago.he did seek medical treatment back then but was loath to persist with it in the wake of mounting expenditure.His wife recollected that he often used to complain of headache accompanied with nausea.

Kochukunju's house was in an absolutely dilapidated condition---mad of mud bricks and comprising a living room which doubled up as a bedroom.The bathroom was set apart from the remainder of the house.It was quite a contrast to his brother's house which lay adjacent to his.They had a television set and a DVD player blaring the latest music when we arrived.They were labourers by profession too but nowadays,even the lowest strata of people were acquainted of and posessed the latest gadgetry.Life was on as it usually was.His family did not share our shock and grief.His wife happily pocketed the money we had brought as a measure of our condolence.

As we walked back through the meandering path that led us to the slums,realiation dawned on us.We probably fathomedthat perhaps Kochunkunju was never just an employee for us.He in all certainty had a left a void which would be hard to fill.It was all suddenly becoming very clear.Kochukunju's obsession with Tamil films was quite natural The love,money,glamour and fun-filled song and dance sequences had transported Kochukunju from this miserbale and love-lorn life to the land of make-believ.He found love to exist there.he fund himself relieved of poverty.He found friends and mates.He probably found te care he yearned from his family.It probably told him that happiness was bound to follow the sorrow that he endured.Thus it gave him the hope that was so essential for survival.For Kochukunju,the transition between reel and real seemed seamless.

Probably I had a sense of guilt at the back of my mind.We may have accused him of being lazy,quite unknowingly ofcourse.But he still showed the courage to fight aginst the illness for a living.Its been over a year since his demise.I still keep expecting him to walk up to my verandah,with the phoney cough and subsequent whistle...