Thunjan Parambu

Malayalam was not the first language that I learnt to speak. I had a tough time trying to decipher the script which was a maze of swirls and twirls along with animal looking letters when I first attacked it head on. I still had my allegiance to German, having been born and raised there till the age of eleven, but I was curious enough to get myself acquainted with this new tongue which I was then told was not just my mother’s but my father’s tongue as well. It was my teacher in school, Sharada teacher as we called her reverently, in faraway Shoranur, a town which housed culture and art and history, who instilled a love for the language in me. I don’t remember how she did it but I remember listening to her speak in Malayalam with rapt attention and taking down notes with a fervour that I didn’t show in any of the other classes. It was in her classes that I got familiar with the most elaborate of details from the stories in the Hindu Puranas(epics). With college days came along the world of movies; I watched all sorts of movies in Malayalam irrespective of cast or time or setting. I didn’t know it then but I later realized that these movies, along with the books I read of the then popular writers in the language, helped to build in a sensibility in me which shaped my personality to a large extent.

That being set as a background, I went with time; changed cities, encountered many more people who spoke varied languages and were part of many diverse cultures. But the remarkable fact was that Malayalam stayed with me as the language which added colours to my feelings and words to my thoughts and dreams. A deep interest in the culture of the land which birthed this language was thus an off shoot.
The visit to Thunjan Parambu in Tirur happened after some deliberation. Visiting the birth place of Ezhuthachan, the father of Malayalam language, brought back memories of those first lessons I learnt from my Malayalam teacher in school. The place houses a memorium, the Thunjan Smarakom, that was built for the great poet and was established in 1964.

Being a neighbouring town to Shoranur and Pattambi, Tirur revealed to me an amazing element: it took on the character of its neighbouring towns so that the entire region held the same flavor; otherwise known as the Malabar flavor, the flavor which encompasses the regions of Kozhikode, Kannur, Wayanad and Malappuram districts of present day Kerala.

The uneventful train journey from Pattambi to Tirur lasted for close to 40 minutes. It was a first in revisits also; the excursion took me back to college days of crowded train journeys where each seat was occupied by at least three people. In Tirur I was joined by a good friend who is also a language and culture enthusiast, a thorough bred ‘Malabari’(a coinage dedicated to local inhabitants of the Malabar area) well acquainted with the local environs in Tirur.
We enter the Thunjan Smarakom building and I find the structure and the surroundings reminiscent of a college campus. Scattered yet organized buildings, open spaces, lots of greenery… the whole place had an aura around it. At times I even wondered if the literary spirit of Ezhuthachan still hovered around the place, with that of his favourite yet talented parrot, who was taught to narrate the poems by this great writer. Aptly titled Kilippattu (Kili stands for a bird in Malayalam), these poems remain the classics of Malayalam literature. We walked around the campus and I took in what came to me. Strains from Bhagvatham and Ramayanam, the famous composition of Ezhuthachan… the air was of piety and befitting of the great poet’s spirit. I was told that MT Vasudevan Nair was the one who was behind this initiative of Thunjan Smarakom. My all-time favourite writer, Malayalam became dearer to me because of him! The annual literary festivals in December and the week- long Thunjan fest held in February in these sacred environs attract lovers of letters from all across. To be listening to tales of trysts with the swirls and twirls of Malayalam would surely be an enlightening experience, I am sure. Once the atmosphere of the place set in, we walked in to the setting. As we went along, the naturally bitter Kanjira tree (A Nux vomica, synonymous for its bitterness) which is surprisingly believed to be not bitter at all here in Thunjan Paramabu, got to our naughty selves. We plucked a leaf and verified its claimed authenticity. But we were in for a big disappointment. The bitterness from biting an inch of that leaf did not leave us till the rich flavor of Tirur’s kudukka biriyani wiped it off our tongues.
Kudukka biriyani; yet another discovery. The short grained thin khyma rice served in a kudukka or pot and flavoured with the tastiest of ingredients; prawns, fish or the regular chicken and mutton; as you would have it! There was a 15 minutes pause to our non-stop chatter as we focused whole heartedly on devouring the sumptuous spread in front of us.

Lunch done, we headed back to Thunjan Parambu to tread further from where we left off. The Kanjira tree seemed to sway mischievously at us as we walked past it yet again. The literary museum was where we stopped at next. Since it was immediately after lunch hours and because it was the holiday season with Christmas just behind us the museum took a while to spring in to action. The first thing that impressed me at the museum was the sighting of Ezhuthachan’s iron stylus, the very same which he was supposed to have used to pen down his texts on palm leaves. To be in direct exposure to that tool appealed to the writer in me. My muse would have led me here for that much awaited and revered touch of inspiration.

For those totally uninitiated to Malayalam language and literature, the museum would be extremely impressive. For the rest, it is more of a revision of information passed on from school days onwards. But for me that revision proved quite useful. I have been out of touch with the essentials and I was glad for this refresher. In the course of browsing through the pictures and information therein I came upon something new: Kakkarissi Natakam. I had never heard of it before. When I dug deeper I found that this was a satirical dance-drama based on the epic legends of Lord Siva and his consort Parvathy when they assumed human forms as Kakkalan and Kakkathi - a nomadic tribe of fortune tellers. The legend only serves as a skeletal framework for the play, which often turns into a subtle critique of contemporary society. The language is a blend of Tamil and Malayalam. I am not sure if this art form still exists. The search is on ever since. A further surprise came upon me when I found a mention of it in a not- so- old Malayalam movie; Celluloid. What interests me is the usage of the ancient art form of dance drama in villages to bring out issues of the current day. Seems like quite an effective technique which might have its spread and reach amongst the audience. Something in the lines of a street play, for example?

The culmination of the museum visit took place at the first floor of the building. As informed by the care taker of the museum we climbed the winding flight of stairs to be welcomed by melancholic notes and a baritone voice. Upon reaching the first floor we tip toed amongst the spread out white plastic chairs and the group of kids seated on those. A screening of a short film was the occasion and the theme was the Death of River Nila. Bharathapuzha, fondly called Nila by us Malabaris, is considered to be the major artery of Kerala, especially the Northern part. The quintessential muse of Malappuram; a dominant source of life and art, the banks of the river gave rise to a civilization akin to of Indus valley. There are myths which throw light on the influence of the river in the social, economical, theological, religious and agricultural development of the people who once lived by the sides of Bharathapuzha. The river is said to be named after an emperor who ruled the land in the olden days. Nila has played host to festivals of varied hues and forms, the Mamankam being a prominent one among them. Many renowned writers of yester years and modern day including poets, story tellers and novelists have raved eloquently about Nila and some have even made Nila a character itself in their literary works. The afore mentioned MT Vasudevan Nair is one such prominent writer who has been in love with Nila and has proclaimed it in almost all of his works. The theme of the film was the sheer negligence, selfishness and disregard to nature which led this once mighty river on to its death-bed. An attempt by a group of school kids, the film struck a chord. More than the plight of the river it was the subtle plea by these children which created an impact among the audience.

Coming out of Thunjan Parambu felt like leaving the corridors of an old university where history and culture and language and muses dwelt together and left their impressions on those who were keen on breathing it all in. There was much to ponder upon during the journey back home. I was standing at the doorway on the moving train, watching the setting sun and the end of one among the many beginnings.