'Thats Hardly Surprising.'

Tanur Station is one of the smaller stations in the state. It wakes up a little before 6 am and sleeps by 11 pm. Shops open, commuters begin to mill in, coolies have their day’s first cup of tea, hawkers set up; all around the same time. Office-goers and business men and mothers going to meet their ever-busy sons in the city and old women in brand new sarees with their purses tucked in their armpits on their way to a far-off temple. It is not because they are afraid of the rush-hour crowd that they start so early. They are the rush-hour crowd. They simply have the habit of getting an early start. There is all the time in the world for them to reach their destination and even if the next train to their destination is half an hour after the one on the platform leaves, there is no hurry at all. Life goes on in slow-motion here. Time seems to go on forever. Here, people do not sit idle to while away their time. It is as if time sits idle instead to give people a unique sense of freedom.

Shekharan is a misfit here. He is hefty and of average height. He is dark and his lips are black. He is partially bald and has a well-trimmed mustache. The scanty salt-pepper hair on his head and his thin line of salt-pepper mustache are the only indications of his middle age. He begins his day at the railway station; like every other rickshawwala in the town. He was the most enthusiastic of the lot when we approached, to take us to our destination. So we got in and off we went, leaving the wind behind. The panoramic view of gods own country swooshed past us like a blur. The wind beat against our ears so that we couldn’t hear anything else. Suddenly, without a warning, Shekharan pulled the rickshaw to a stop, right in the middle of a newly tarred road. It was only then that I heard a strange polyphonic version of Beethoven’s Fur Elise somewhere in the vicinity. Shekharan apologized profusely as he reached into his pocket and took out the source of the unearthly music. As he answered the call, he took out a small notepad from his pocket. Shekharan jotted down a date and time while he mumbled something about not being able to make it for the wedding because he was busy with election work. He hurriedly cut the call and started the engine again. He apologized again and zoomed on.

“You see, I’ve been waiting for this call since last night.” He said in Malayalam. “I need to look into the registration of this marriage. It’s a long story.” He turned to see if he had any audience. My father look intrigued, so he went on.

“I also teach at the local school. I’m a physical trainer. Children around here have enough exercise walking miles from their homes to school as it is. But they have no stamina. No food, no proper supply of water, you see. This little village is quite lucky though. It comes under the municipality of the city near-by. You people look like you yourself have come from a big city. What business brings you here?”

“We have family here” replied my father.

“I see. Who is it may I know? I might know them. I’ve been to almost every house in the area because of the election campaign.”

“They live in the large house next to the river.”

“Oh. Then I might not know them. I still haven’t covered that part. You see, I’m the Municipal Advisor. Any problem people have around here, they come to me to get it solved. Usually, they do not rely on the municipality, but sometimes when there are legal matters involved, then I have to look into it. That is how I know almost everybody around here.

“I’m also part of a local political organization. I garner the votes for my party in this area. That is why with the elections coming, I’ve been having a very hectic month. I start out with my rickshaw at 6 in the morning. School starts at about 8 am, but I go there only by 11 am. I get free from there by 3 pm. That is when I go to the party office. If there is much work then there is no chance of earning anymore money driving the rickshaw for that day. But, with only a wife and a child to look after, I get by quite comfortably.”

We had reached a little grocer’s shop, where we halted so my father could buy some snacks to give to our relatives. An old man in checkered lungi and a long white beard passed us by. Shekharan called out to him and the old man looked back.

“How are the preparations for the wedding, Mommad kaka?”

“Everything is going fine, Inshallah. How is little, Aadirakutti? And, son, I still haven’t received word from them about the water supply to my land. I’m giving that place as Chandni’s dowry. You know how important it is to me.”

“Don’t worry, Mommad kaka, I’ll make sure you receive it in time. I shall leave now, I have passengers. But don’t worry, it will be done.” He touched the old man’s feet, returned to his seat and sped on, once again.

After my father had paid him off, he handed my father his visiting-card, in case we ever needed his services again. The card read:

Shekharan Thampi

B.A., L.L.B

Municipal Advisor, Physical trainer, Rickshaw driver, Member of Communist Party of Kerala – Thrissur chapter.