Mama, Bye

'Ennada eppadiy irikaay. Romba naal achchu,' the pleasant monthly call from Mama. A few easy words, family happenings; and the open laughs. We will go off the phones. 'Vishu aashamsakal,' on Vishu to Rama and me. The first Onam call. Mama will not wait for me calling, he will call when he felt it. Mama for all, R. Venkitachalam at the offices he worked, Mama for me. For 70 years we knew each other; an intensity kept hidden; he was not senior, me was not junior. In Calcutta years, a morning did not become noon, till me walked over to Panditya Road to say Hai to Mama and Mama returning, 'Va'; Mami will make coffee; smiles bartered; an elder, he gave me space and me liked his soft, undemanding ways. Mama enjoyed music, films, sports, Malayalam writings and Malayalis. A wholseome Malayali. Me hit Mumbai, he followed, we were the same. We did not gatecrash into each other daily; there was no fear of a relationship going away; we were always sure we will be together, a phone call away; there was no hugging, no praising, no nothing; just being. Growing in Calcutta he took me to cricket matches at Deshapriya Park; to Eden Gardens with tickets for the Bill Lawry Australia-India Test match and sundry Ranji Trophy matches. An early morning we sat at the radio over the Brisbane Tie Test between Benaud's Australia and Worrell's West Indies. 'Its a tie,' McGilvry said and me looked blankly at Mama and he explained; till today, me cannot explain his love for cricket, a Malayali born in Kottarakara; football matches at the Maidan; when man landed on the moon, he applauded, went over the moon. He had a strong liking for Mathematics and science, taught me algebra and geometry; me failed at it without regrets. A B.Sc. (Honours) in Maths from Maharaja's College, Trivandrum, he taught at a school in Ezhukon a few miles from his dear Kottarakara with Patti's pothi chor lunch in hand. Tickets were bought for Calcutta; did B.Com at Asutosh College and AICWA; duelled numbers as accounts officer at Agarpara Jute Mills and B.N. Elias; his Zen moments were when the balance sheet balanced; jute he knew and at some moments fondled the fibre. Marriage to Jaya, children. After all the years in Calcutta, he was unsure with Bengali, sure with Bengalis. There was a Bhattacharya at B.N. Elias, his near friend with Sankaran of Kottarakara being his best. He belonged to a group which met on holidays near Lake Market to chat and coffee. They are all gone. We kept in touch; fated. Perhaps, Mama might have had some complaints, natural; but he never told me anything. He selected my wife, dear old Rama from Alleppey, a daughter of his Mama, H. Gopalakrishnan. Yes, to his Alleppey mama, he wrote letters. He knew me being a journalist; certified me to H. Gopalakrishnan. At particularly joyful moments, he rolled back to school times at Kottarakara; hours with his boss G.P. Goenka and corporate twists and turns and tremors. Of my wayward drinkings and smokings, he was aware; never, never raised it with me; he never upended me; me was a human to him; that was me Mama, the man, a gentleman.