A mere leap from the capital, and you find yourself 35 kilometers away, at the Tamil Nadu border. The other day, while scrolling through Facebook, a picture, sweet as honey, caught my eye, whisking me back to childhood memories. During mid-summer vacations, we children would be taken to stay at my father's ancestral home, Pattanam Bungalow.
2️⃣My grandfather (my father's father) was a man of great wealth. Upon hearing the Maghrib call to prayer from the nearby mosque, he would lovingly urge us to pray. More often than not, he would lead us in prayer. Descended from Malik Ibn Dinar, he possessed a noble bearing and grace, and was a man of immense generosity and gentle spirit, respected by all. Until his last breath in 1966, he inscribed verses of the Quran on his chest with his finger. He ran a thriving wholesale business of Jaffna tobacco, betel nut, notebooks, and other goods, spanning Kerala, Tamil Nadu, and Ceylon, under the renowned E.K.P. name, based in Kaliyikkavila. Behind Pattanam Bungalow stretched acres of farmland, yielding every kind of fruit imaginable, as far as the eye could see. Many workers toiled there, mostly Nadar community members skilled in climbing palm trees, who were our dependents. Betel nuts, coconuts, pineapples, screwpine flowers, ripe custard apples, and tender palm fruits from the towering black palmyra trees, swaying gently in the breeze, were abundant. Legend whispered that these palmyra trees were the abode of enchanting spirits. Drawn by the fragrance of screwpine in the air, we children would wander along the paths, peering up at the palmyra crowns, hoping to glimpse or speak to a spirit. Grandfather would assure us that spirits and demons would flee from those with pure hearts who knew Quranic verses and prayers. The workers, eager to greet us, would rush over, bowing respectfully, which always made us giggle.
3️⃣They'd roast palm fruits and offer us tender palm kernels, their delightful taste lingering even now. Later, in my youth, I saw piles of palm fruit clusters for sale outside a few shops near the east fort of Padmanabhaswamy Temple, where the shops were bustling. I peeked in. They were selling palm fruit sherbet. I recognized one of the shopkeepers, a Muslim gentleman. I bought a glass of sherbet. He served two tender palm fruits (six eyes) in a large glass with sugar and a spoon. It was the young, soft palm fruit, perfect for quenching thirst, relieving fatigue, and packed with vitamins. The place was clean and the price was modest. This area, encompassing East Fort, Chalai Bazaar, Pazhavangadi, and Padmanabhaswamy Temple, was always lively. From my home in Palayam, it was only a three-kilometer walk. After college, I'd freshen up and take a leisurely stroll around five, easily reaching Government University College, Secretariat, Puthanchantha, Overbridge, and Pazhavangadi. In the evenings, I'd browse the second-hand book stalls near Padmanabhaswamy Temple, buy some books, enjoy a palm fruit sherbet, and chat with friends before walking home, eager to read. Along the way, I'd pass through the city's darker corners. I witnessed those selling their bodies for food, thugs waiting to snatch purses, and drug dealers operating freely. Yet, no one ever stopped me. They recognized me as "so-and-so's" descendant, and even the thugs and police would give me a wide berth.
4️⃣ I praise my Lord countless times for protecting me during those vibrant years. Today, everything has vanished. You’d be hard-pressed to even find a palm fruit, let alone its kernel. (Kernel=edible part of a nutshell)"
PalayamNizar Ahamed
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Palayam Nizar Ahamed(M.Nizar Ahamed) writer| Journalist |Blogger| Editor-in-Chief |Flash News Bulletindaily|Flash news, investigative reports & editorial writings Author : Palayam Nizar Ahamed(M.Nizar Ahamed) writer| Journalist |Blogger| Editor-in-Chief |Flash News Bulletindaily|Flash news, investigative reports & editorial writings
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