3-06/09
In 1982 when I got my posting orders to work as Rural Development Officer in Syndicate Bank, Mananthavady in Wynaad District, (Kerala State-India), I was forewarned that it was a difficult area and was considered as a punishment area for the state government staff of Kerala. The general impression about Wynaad was that it was predominantly a tribal district and it used to be the home of militant Naxalbari activities in the late sixties. They also warned me of the incessant rains and the mosquito menace.
Despite all these impressions I fell in love with the place from day one. The winding uphill bus route from Calicut to Mananthavady (then known as Manantoddy- the anglicised version of Mananthavady), was so picturesque that I got spontaneously inspired to write a poem. I scribbled it on the back side of a cigarette packet while making my first trip to Mananthavady.
Ode to the October Breeze
The October breeze felt my skin that morning,
as I started for my first assignment,
“A ticket to Manantoddy, please”-
And the next second all eyes focussed on me.
I felt ecstatic to be the cynosure
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
The steadfast bus streaked through spiral roads
as I kept staring at the striking scenery
of the endless greenery and the morning skyline.
I felt levitating to the soaring Wynaad heights
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
Everything around seemed to be lively
as the October paddy with panicle heads
seemed to perform ballet in an open opera
to the tune of twittering early birds.
I was dumbfounded at nature’s choreography
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
(The poem was published in the June 1983 issue of Giant- Syndicate Bank’s House magazine.)
As days passed by I had already picked up a platter of spoken Malayalam and was out in the fields most of the time mingling with the tribal families and local settlers. In next four years of my stay from 1982, I got so much involved with the people that we were in jitters when we moved out in 1986. In the next few blog posts I would be writing interesting happenings in Wynaad.
In 1982 when I got my posting orders to work as Rural Development Officer in Syndicate Bank, Mananthavady in Wynaad District, (Kerala State-India), I was forewarned that it was a difficult area and was considered as a punishment area for the state government staff of Kerala. The general impression about Wynaad was that it was predominantly a tribal district and it used to be the home of militant Naxalbari activities in the late sixties. They also warned me of the incessant rains and the mosquito menace.
Despite all these impressions I fell in love with the place from day one. The winding uphill bus route from Calicut to Mananthavady (then known as Manantoddy- the anglicised version of Mananthavady), was so picturesque that I got spontaneously inspired to write a poem. I scribbled it on the back side of a cigarette packet while making my first trip to Mananthavady.
Ode to the October Breeze
The October breeze felt my skin that morning,
as I started for my first assignment,
“A ticket to Manantoddy, please”-
And the next second all eyes focussed on me.
I felt ecstatic to be the cynosure
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
The steadfast bus streaked through spiral roads
as I kept staring at the striking scenery
of the endless greenery and the morning skyline.
I felt levitating to the soaring Wynaad heights
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
Everything around seemed to be lively
as the October paddy with panicle heads
seemed to perform ballet in an open opera
to the tune of twittering early birds.
I was dumbfounded at nature’s choreography
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.
(The poem was published in the June 1983 issue of Giant- Syndicate Bank’s House magazine.)
As days passed by I had already picked up a platter of spoken Malayalam and was out in the fields most of the time mingling with the tribal families and local settlers. In next four years of my stay from 1982, I got so much involved with the people that we were in jitters when we moved out in 1986. In the next few blog posts I would be writing interesting happenings in Wynaad.
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