Saturday, February 15, 2020

Ponnappa : A Pattar of Travancore

PONNAPPA



Ponnappa - with Fez worn @ a characteristically jaunty - even rakish - angle! Alongside is my grandmother Meenakshi (Chitthammai)

A sense of place .... and of landscape .... & the folk that once inhabited it :

"Memories within memories; those red and black and brown coated riders return to me now without any beckoning, bringing along with them the wintry smelling freshness of the woods and fields. And how could I forget them, those evergreen country characters whom I once learnt to know by heart, and to whom I have long since waved my last farewell (as though at the end of a rattling good day). Sober faced squires, with their civil greetings and knowing eyes for the run of a fox; the landscape belonged to them and they to the homely landscape. ....  .... .... and a rich-flavoured collection of characters they were although I only half-recognized them as such while I was with them."

Siegfried Sassoon in his "the Memoirs of a Fox Hunting Man".

This could be Parur or Alwaye in Travancore but for the red, black and brown coats .

This blog post about my maternal grandfather, T R Ramakrishna Iyer or Ponnappa, was first published by me in August 2007 in my brother's blog. It is re-published in this family blog with very minimal, minor changes.

Family Background


Ponnappa was the youngest of the four sons of T.R.Chandrasekhara Shastrigal, a Sanskrit scholar of the very highest order, who was also popularly known as Rama Shastrigal or, as some people used to refer to him, Govinda Shastrigal. He, I am told, adopted Rama Shastrigal when writing a major Sanskrit exam, on behalf of his indisposed elder brother of that name. When his father learnt of this substitution, Chandrasekhara Shastrigal was soundly admonished & instructed to assume the name of Rama Shastrigal - so that, having passed the exam himself, he could use the diploma rather than let his brother use it (which would have been a most improper thing to do).  

But Chandrasekharan was his official, given name and one that many of my maternal uncles, his grandsons, and my cousins, his great-grandsons have carried. He was a Sanskrit Scholar in the court of the Maharaja of Travancore at Trivandrum & a Pundit @ the Sanskrit Patashala or school in that city. He had retired from the court to North (N.) Parur in Central Kerala by the time Ponnappa was about 12 years old i.e by about 1912. The house in Parur had been built well before the birth in 1900 of Ponnappa on land provided to Rama Shastrigal by the Travancore Highness styled Colonel H.H. Maharaja Raja Ramaraja Sri Padmanabha Dasa Vanchi Pala Sri Rama Varma VI Kulasekhara Kiritapati Manney Sultan Bahadur, Shamsher Jang, Maharaja of Travancore, GCSI, GCIE or H.H Rama Varma VI but popularly known as Shri Moolam Tirunal. Shri Moolam Thirunal was the Patron of Rama Shastrigal and fl. 1885 -1924 as Ruler of Travancore.

Parents

I recall being told that the house in Parur, known as Thoppil Matom (meaning Brahmin residence set in the grove), was built about 10 - 12 years before Ponnappa's birth, say 1890 or thereabouts. Subsequently, a garden of about 2 acres or so with an old house on it was gifted to Rama Shastrigal by the Maharaja and the old house extended and restored by the latter thereafter.

Now, there is a theory in some sections of our family that Chandrasekhara Shastrigal or Rama Shastrigal was actually born in a village called Chandrasekharapuram in Tanjore District of Tamil Nadu, learnt his Sanskrit in Tiruvaiyar near Tanjore and came into the employment of Shri Moolam Tirunal. And that, once in Trivandrum, he married my great grandmother, Parvathi or Ammai Patti, whose family had lived in Kollengode in South Malabar for several generations. I think nothing could be farther from the truth. See below.

Chandrasekhara Puram

"This is a Palakkad village in the banks of the Shokanashini River (Kannadi Puzha). The land of this village belonged to the Pathayikkara Namboodiris in the olden age. It is told that these Nambbodiris donated the entire land to Iyers and left the place. There is only one street with houses on both sides of the street. In the olden times there were about 150 brahmin houses in this village. Now there are only about 80 houses. There are three main temples that of Siva, Krishna and Ganapathi. There is also a temple of Sastha along with his consort, PoornaPushkalamba. The Siva Parathishta was done by the Tamil Iyers who settled here but the Bhagawati Prathishta in this temple is of the Namboodiris. Vinayaka Chaturthi is celebrated in the Ganesha Temple with an Ezunnellathu. In the month of Thula, there is Annabishekam in the Siva temple. In the month of Makara, Sastha Preethi is celebrated on a grand scale in this village. During Ashtami Rohini, there is a festival in the Krishna temple in which there is Uriyadi. In the olden times, some of the villagers adopted to Sanyasa and their samadhis are in the river bank. There were many musicians and Vedic Pundits belonging to the village, like Krishna Vadhyar, Mathru Jada Vallabhar, Viswanatha Bhagavathar, Vaidyanatha Vadhyar,Chellappa Deekshidar, Yagnendra Deekshidar etc".



N.B : Taken from a Kerala Iyer Resources Web Page (since taken down).

Now, it should be clear that Chandrasekhara Shastrigal came from this Palghat Gramam of Vedic Scholars, a Chandrasekharapuram right in the heart of Pattardom. He probably did go to Tiruvaiyar in Tanjore district to learn Vedas, Vedanta, Tarka, Meemamsa and all those things that Sanskrit scholars are trained in and, thence, to Trivandrum. Because, Tiruvaiyar, in those days, was the foremost centre for Sanskrit scholarship in the South. I do not know whether or not he was a Maha Mahopadyaya nor whether such titles and standing were known in Kerala in those days.

I know from various things that Ponnappa has told me that Chandrasekhara Shastrigal was about forty in 1900, the year of Ponnappa's birth. And that he had retired with a pension from the Travancore court by about 1910 or 1912. He was, therefore, born circa 1860 and I think he lived up to 1935 or 1936 by which time my mother, who had memories of him, was 7 or 8. And I rather think that we may place the year of birth of his wife, Parvathi or Ammappatti, at about 1872-73. The eldest male child of this marriage, T.R.Ranganatha Iyer or Parur Anna, was born c. 1890-92 and there was at least one girl, the mother of my paternal grandmother Meena Pattiammai, born around 1888. So, the dates of birth of Rama Shastrigal and Ammappatti may be safely placed between 1855-60 and 1870-75 respectively. I do know that Ammappatti, who I vaguely remember as a cold, authoritarian matriarch of stern bearing and deportment, died in 1956 0r 57, aged about 83 or maybe 84.

Ammappatti's family were from alampallam near Kollengode and her eldest daughter, who became my paternal great grandmother, was probably married into Ammappatti's natal family. I think she was married to Amma Patti's own brother who was himself a renowned Sanskrit Scholar. This makes me think Ammappatti's father must have been a Sanskrit Scholar in his own right and that that is how the marriage between his daughter and Rama Shastrigal came about. It was very unlikely, probably unheard of, for a Kollengode family, circa 1875, to give their daughters away to Kongans (as all brahmins of Tamil Nadu are termed by the Palghat people) in distant and almost alien Tanjore when plenty of Pattans (Pattar is Malayalam for a Kerala Iyer) were available in the neighbourhood. I have been told by my mom and others that even in the 1940's Pattars, by and large, considered an alliance with Tanjore akin to "Pulivaal" i.e catching a tiger by the tail. Nor did the Tanjore folk seem to have entertained anything but reciprocal sentiments.

In any case, if he had been originally from Trichy or Tanjore, there would have been brothers or sisters or a cousin or, at the very least, distant or country cousins who would have kept in contact with him. There were none such and no talk of such connections.

Parur & Kodungallore

Now, North Parur, or Paravur, itself was, and is, a lively and bustling melting pot of different cultures, Hindu, Syrian Christian, Jew and Muslim and, in that respect, unique even for Kerala. Parur is just south of Cranganore or Kodungalloor which has been clearly identified as the Muziris of Pliny's time (1st Century B.C.) and Ptolemy's. This busy port served the hilly terrain to the East and much shipment of produce, timber and spices was done out of Cranganore in the times gone by. And Parur, which is just south of Cranganore on the southern side of the Periar inlet and about 4KM from the former, it seems became the mercantilist base for all the maritime shipments conducted from Muziris.




The Prospect of Cranganor all sides - India. 

London: Lintot & Osborn, 1703. Copper Engraving from the 1703 London edition of "A True and Exact Description of the most Celebrated East-India Coasts of Malabar and Coromandel; as also of the Isle of Ceylon' by Philip Baldaeus."

Some views of Cranganore actually taken 1672 (the date of 1703 refers to the particular edition from which these etchings are taken) by Philip Baldaeus, a Dutch Missionary & Traveller. In my collection.

Now, the Dutch excelled in landscape painting and you can see the appeal of these beautifully hand-painted views showing Dutch topographic art at its best : a sheet of water in the foreground, very common in Holland, the arresting middle line formed by the buildings, accurately silhouetted with the camera obscura, and the blue sky in backdrop. 

Parur, just across the rivermouth from Cranganore, has a similar landscape but not a Baldaeus of its own to celebrate the topography.

The result was that the settlement attracted various trading communities, the Jews of the Bene Israel community from Baghdad and elsewhere who arrived, it would seem, well before the turn of the first Millennium, the indigenous Syrian Christians or Nazranis (meaning followers of Jesus of Nazarene), and Muslim Moplahs. Add to this a leavening by the latterday arrival of a community of Tamil Brahmins from Palghat and the Pandikkara Brahmins from Nagercoil and you have a rich and colourful mosaic of communities which, if by no means melding racially, made for a very cosmopolitan environment and culture in Parur.

That is how I myself remember Parur from my school and college hols in the 1950's and upto the end of the 60's. Besides, my mother used to fondly recount to us her childhood and schooldays in Parur, growing up in a joint family. She has said that Parur being a part of Travancore, the schoolkids, and perhaps the adults too, felt superior to what they considered to be the less cosmopolitan Cochin State all around them. Distinct from nearby Cochin State, Parur had its own Travancore holidays, including one for the Ruler's birthday which was celebrated with great fanfare, and its own Travancore National Anthem. Also, English, not Malayalam, was the medium of instruction in all the schools, including hers. And she had many Nazrani (meaning follower of Jesus of Nazareth or a Syrian Christian of Kerala) and Nair friends from school. It was also the case that the Brahmin, Christian, Nair and also Moplah communities used to visit each other socially and were good friends. Thoppil Matom had its share of such friendships and social status or equivalence, rather than caste or religion, was the common factor.

The scene then in Parur, in Ponnappa's boyhood and youth, was of a very unique social mixture, even for Kerala, with various communities of Nazranis such as Jacobites, Mar Thomas, Canaanites and Syrian Catholics, Moplahs, a sprinkling of Jews and the ubiquitous Pattar community of Palghat Brahmins plus the Pandikkaras from further south who had moved into Parur. Parur, although enclosed on all sides by Cochin State, was a small, roughly crescent-shaped enclave of the Travancore State, though just about contiguous with the rest of Travancore. 



The map above is a combined one for Travancore and Cochin States, the boundaries between the two shown in pink. Travancore ends where you can see Paravur on the map. The territory above Parur is Cochin State.

Throw in the rest of the Hindu majority of Nairs, Ezhavas, a very few Nambutiris and the other castes and in Parur there was a very civil and cultured social milieu in which a young lad learnt quickly to work in friendship and accord with people of diverse backgrounds. Parur had a great mercantilist tradition, trade was the all-purpose solvent & so, when you were in business or in the legal profession, you learnt to get along. The wholly benign and beneficent rule of the Travancore Highnesses, a good extent different even from the very progressive Cochin State and totally welcoming to all races and communities, only facilitated this process.

One of Ponnappa's boyhood escapades is worth mentioning from the many he has related to us. This goes back to 1913 when he was about 13 and fell in to the daily habit of enquiring of the Postman if there were any letters for him. Now, it was inconceivable in those pre-war days that a schoolboy of 13 in a place like Parur, which for all its merits was only a backwater of the Dominion of India, would get mail every day. The long-suffering Postman one day burst out:

എടോ, തന്നെപോലെ ഒരു പ്പീക്കിരി ചെരുക്കന്നു ആരെങ്ങിലും കത്ത് അയക്കുവോ? താന്‍ ഒന്നു പോടോ ഇവിടന്നു. അല്ലപിന്നെ!!

(Dash it you little twerp! D'you seriously expect anyone would write you a letter, you little twerp? Get lost").

An admirable sentiment and very well put, I think, but an incensed Ponnappa snatched the Postman's mailbag and dunked it into the Mookambi temple tank with the result the mail became unfit for delivery. The upshot was that he was promptly frog marched to the local cop station and put in the cooler. When news reached home, and news travelled fast in the Parur of those days, his eldest brother Parur Anna turned up at the station house. Ponnappa, by now, was crying his heart out and swearing vengeance on the entire constabulary of Parur, but Parur Anna was already studying to be a lawyer and knew that small boys could not be held for more than a few hours. Some negotiations with the cops followed and he was taken home and given a sound beating.

Whereupon betook himself to Trippunittura side, about 30 KM from Parur,and secured a job as a cook's assistant or dogsbody in the Illam (household)  of a Nambutiri. He was traced there, about two weeks later, immensely enjoying himself, lording it over in the kitchen and ordering other factotums as well as the cook himself about. Repossessed, taken home again and administered the necessary and inevitable second beating .



Education & Attire


Ponnappa's academic background as I remember it is that he spent about 6 years in Madras, doing his B.A Sanskrit and M.A. Philosophy at Presidency and 2 more years at the Madras Law College. I think he told me that he did his Intermediate  (pre-collegiate studies)  at Trivandrum, @ the Maharaja's College (since renamed Universoty College).




So, his formative years were at Presidency and Law Colleges between the ages of about 17 to 23 and the years must have been 1917 to 1923. And most of his tutors and Professors at both places, especially Presidency, were Englishmen of the Madras Educational Service, almost all of them Oxbridge  or London university graduates. Although his elder brothers Chittappa and Kunjappa (respectively Vaidyanatha Iyer & Padmanabha Iyer, brothers 2 & 3) did go to St Joseph's Trichy and Madras Christian College, respectively, they do not seem to have absorbed to the same degree the sartorial tastes that Ponnappa acquired. So, I think it was something innate in him and Madras gave him the chance to observe those Englishmen and, no doubt, the Madras boys (many preparing for the ICS) who were more familiar with such European dressing and habits.



The fashions prevalent among the English in Madras in those days were totally Edwardian and I think England was no different. King Edward the 7th had died in 1910 but he was a leader in men's fashion right up to the end and his influence continued to dictate choice in men's style upto the beginning of the 2nd World War, I think. This is the style that Ponnappa had assimilated as I am sure most of the English in Madras were slaves to Edwardian fashion and manners.



The style preferred pin-stripe shirts of cotton Poplin, a strong but soft material, still universally popular in the UK and US. The stripes were blue, pink or green usually - though there were some lovely checks & pastels too - and many shirts had detachable collars and cuffs, always white. Ponnappa's shirts were mostly pin-stripes or lovely graph checks and he wore many shirts with detachable cuffs & collars in white and the shirt material was always Poplin. He got them done in Ernakulam and used to have them previously made in Madras for a long time, I think.


The shirts mostly had studs of 14 or 18-carat gold to be fitted in place and not buttons sewn on. And, of course, only cuff links were used by the English, then as now - not push through cuff "studs". And Ponnappa's ties were all tasteful stripes, mostly broad stripes and some with Paisley patterns. And he wore mostly suspenders with his trousers of cotton drill or grey or dark blue flannel, sometimes trousers with buckles but never a belt.

Ponnappa mostly used Krementz cuff links, usually of 14 K gold or gold plated and some set with Opal, Topaz or Cabachon stones in blue or brown etc. Also, he had at least one set of Krementz gold studs, some silver ones and a few of ivory. And he always used silk ties made by Tootal or a very few Hermes or Charvet, the last 2 being excellent brands. Tootal used to be available in U.K upto some 15 years back, perhaps is still available and is a good, though not top bracket brand. Krementz is no longer in business since the mid 1960s but the old links are still sold on the Net.


Ponnappa - about 25 years old, c.1925

And Ponnappa always used a cut-throat razor which he used to strop with great care about once a week. He also used to hone the razor about once a month and always used alum after a shave.

He had a taste for many things English like Wright's Coal Tar soap and Huntley & Palmer's Glasgow biscuits, tins of which he used to get for us from Ernakulam. And he had several black blazers, only one, I think, in blue as Black was required in the legal profession.

He was a most immaculately attired man and one who used to both select his clothes and dress with great care. In my mid-thirties, I got influenced by the tastes of Ponnappa as I realised that my Brit colleagues were still following Edwardian maxims of dressing, though the collar may have bacome a little lower, the cut different and shirt fronts full open with buttons, cuffs and collars sewn on. So, I have always preferred shirts with stripes, graph checks and, often, with contrast cuffs and collars in white. Also, silk ties by Turnbull & Asser, Hawes & Curtis, Sulka or Hermes in stripes mainly but never Tootal. And lace-up brogues, rarely slip-ons! He was, and has been, a definite influence in shaping my tastes. I also got into pipe-smoking as Ponnappa was a regular pipe smoker. I also fool about sometimes with a cut-throat razor! Imitation is the best form of flattery.



Legal Practice & Public Life



So the early beginnings in Parur were reinforced in Ponnappa's case by the exposure to Madras and Presidency and Law Colleges. And, after getting his law degree, he was keen to study law in London for a couple of years and to eat his dinners at one of the Temples i.e Associations of Lawyers at the Inns of Court and thus qualify as a Barrister-at-Law. But that was not to be as his mother wouldn't hear of sending him across the Black Water for any length of time, leave alone two or three years. The family finances could have afforded it, in Ponnappa's opinion, for Amma Patti had been endowed some lands in Palghat as her dowry, there was an income from this so-called Manjakkani (dowry) property and the family had been able to put all the four boys through college in Madras (more or less simultaneously, except Ponnappa who was the youngest and went up a little later). Also, an education in England in those days did not cost an arm and a leg and was possibly only about double the expense of education in Madras. It was more a question of not wanting to let him go so far, perhaps also a reservation about the Black Water and, moreover, she wanted to get him married. I am also not sure if Chandrasekhara Shastrigal was consulted in the matter at all. The matriarchal Ammappatti ruled with an iron hand while old Shastrigal pored over his Sanskrit tracts and manuscripts.

But his upbringing in Madras and Parur had already made him a clubbable and convivial man though he also used to oftentimes display a fearful, dyspeptic and choleric temper. People were careful not to expose themselves to this facet of his personality. But, as quickly as he flared up, he would cool down and all would be sunshine again! He practiced in Parur and Alwaye courts and, later, in the High Court at Ernakulam and became an important and senior member of the profession, specialising in Criminal Law. He, and before him, his immediate elder brother were also Presidents of the District Board, a position of high standing in the public domain. In his late forties, he shifted to nearby Alwaye, now Aluva, a salubrious resort town on the Aluvappuzha or Periar and very much a part of the Travancore State. He was doing more work, by then, in the Alwaye court and the Ernakulam High Court which was closer to Alwaye.

Life in Alwaye & Some Rara Aves or Memorable Characters

We, that is mom and my brother Kannan and sister Shobhi or Shobha, his grandchildren through his daughter, used to visit Alwaye for two months or so in the summer holidays. He often used to journey down to fetch us from wherever we were, Madras or Madurai, and a first class train journey to Alwaye by the Cochin Express, our favourite train, would follow (if we went by ourselves, it was always 3-tier sleeper, no first class!). The time at Alwaye each year was the highspot of our growing up but this write-up is about Ponnappa, not us. So I will throw in those bits later, if appropriate.

But when in Alwaye we saw something of his practice, his clients and his social life. The clients were mostly those involved or implicated in murder and other serious crimes as well as Syrian Christian bus owners fighting litigation for the negligence, alleged or real, of their drivers or Planters from the hills, including some Firangis, dealing with violence among the labour - a true cross section of society. I remember two visitors especially of whom one was a Mr P.K. Julian, a Syrian Canaanite Catholic of the Old Schism and the owner of Jubilee Motors and Union Motors, both being limited companies engaged in bussing people around point to point. (In those days, from the 30's or 40's, the Syrian Christians of Travancore were at the forefront in passenger transportation by bus, a sector in which that community took the lead as with rubber and other commodities).

Julian was a tall, well-built, fair and handsome looking man in his late forties (I am writing of 1958 when I was about 7 or so and onwards to the end of the 60's) immaculately attired in white kurta or jibba, spotless mundu, slip on shoes well shined, the mandatory leather bag clutched in his armpits, gold Rolex wrist watch and a tin or case of cigarettes (what else but State Express) in hand. In those days, men of substance in Kerala, such as Ponnappa and Julian, used only cigarette cases not packs. Julian,bluff, hearty and genial, large as life, a typical Acchayan (term for the head of a Nazrani family) of his times, educated, prosperous, was a friend and client of Ponnappa and a buddy to us kids. He always made time to chat with us and sometimes used to bring a little gift, bicuits or a few pencils or old tennis balls. I kept track of Julian for a long time and learnt that he had died in the early or late 90's aged eighty plus. How I wish I had kept in touch with him.

There were many Nazrani clients and friends as also Moplahs from all walks of life and Nairs and others. One Moplah, not a client but the newsagent who delivered the papers, that we kids and Ponnappa were friends with was Mohideen or Moidukka, a tall, gangling, cheery, voluble man of six foot four dressed in a white lungi, pink or white shirt and a white or green kerchief for headcloth. Mohideen always had a special word for us kids and we looked forward to our daily chat with him. And to the Saturday Evening Post, Time, Life, Readers Digest and stuff he delivered regularly. Also, the occasional Potti, Embrandiri - who were Tulu speaking South Canara Brahmins resident in Kerala for centuries - or Mudalalimar (a term for Gowda-Saraswat Brahmins from South Canara, Prabhus and Pais etc, resident in Kerala for generations) clients. So quite a cross-section of Kerala types and I used to observe them all, utterly fascinated.

The criminal clients were a motley and sometimes piratical crew, terrified of Ponnappa's forbidding presence and of the unenviable context they were placed in. He always managed to get them a light sentence, if not an acquittal, and was the local leader in Criminal Law Practice. And, he made sure to collect from the Police the weapons used as evidence in the case, almost always the knives used as murder weapons. He thus had a collection of various and deadly knives, swords, kukris and daggers, well over two dozen, which he used lovingly to strop and polish about half-yearly and wrap up in a cloth bundle. All the weapons were individually labelled in English and Malayalam with the facts of the particular case and were his mementos, keepsakes, of his exploits in court.

Incidentally, since Ponnappa's death in 1972, I have been trying to get hold of his collection of these beautiful knives but have been repeatedly foiled in my efforts. Firstly by my mother, later joined by my wife Vasumathi, both of whom took a completely different view of the matter and regarded this collection with jaundiced eyes, considering the knives the gruesome and grisly relics of heinous, dastardly crimes, a collection that no respectable home should have. They have consistently refused to see the merit in my rightful view of the knives as mementos of Ponnappa's courtroom skills and beautiful weaponry in their own right which deserve to be properly regarded as the priceless heirlooms they are. But hope springs eternal and I intend one day to broach the matter with my aunt Rukmini who, if she takes a view similar to Vasumathi's. will no doubt happily let me take them away.

One such murderer that I knew well and whose knife is in the collection was a blacksmith called Narayanan, a strong, silent and severe-looking man who did murder his wife. But only in a fit of rage on catching her in flagrante delicto with her lover. Ponnappa proved the mitigating circumstances and got him a 5-year sentence, later remitted to about three for good conduct. Ponnappa also charged him only a nominal fee for a case that went on for over two years. Narayanan forever placed himself in Ponnappa's debt and used to make his annual visit around Vishu with gifts of Jack, tender Coconuts, Nendran or the big Kerala plantain fruit, Pine-apple and Kashuvandi or Cashew from his homestead. He would be given a cup of tea and a cigarette, a little chat would ensue with Narayanan squatting on the floor and off he would go.

There were many other clients he similarly bailed out and many of them, post acquittal or release from a relatively light sentence, felt beholden to their Vakil Swami. They used to come and visit him occasionally as a mark of regard and gratitude, even after resuming the straight and narrow post enlargement from prison. I remember a few such who, on being told Ponnappa was out, would go out the gate and squat patiently by the roadside, chewing on their beedies while awaiting his arrival. All they wanted to do on meeting him was to greet him, say they were passing by, enquire after his welfare and chat a little with him.

സ്വാമിയേ ഒന്നു കണ്ടേച്ചു പോകാവുന്നു കരുതി വന്നു, അത്തരയെ

(I just came to pay my respects).



After these courtesies were done with, these tongue-tied, strong, silent men would take leave and depart! Ponnappa held the office of Jail visitor in Alwaye and Ernakulam for many years in succession because of his natural sympathy for the underdog.




I once heard one of them saying to a new client that he fell into a conversation with :

എല്ലാവരും കൂടി എന്നെ പ്രതിസന്ധിയില്‍ കുടുക്കിയപ്പോള്‍ ഞാന് സ്വാമിയേ കാണാന്‍ വന്നു. പിന്നെ സ്വമിയാണ് എന്നെ രക്ഷപ്പെടുത്തിയത്.

(When circumstances and people conspired to send me up shit creek I came to the Swami. And was rescued).

The interesting thing, of course, is the suggestion or self-perception of the man that he was only a victim of circumstances and not actually culpable. I feel in retrospect that Ponnappa empathised with this view or, at least, understood this perception and tried to help these people. I have also gathered from Ponnappa's replies that most of them led normal lives after the crisis was resolved with conduct that, occasional drunken brawls in toddy shops excepted, was street legal!

Ponnappa in the Round



Now, Ponnappa used occasionally to visit the local Union Club (there was a Union Club in every town in Kerala I think), to shoot the breeze with his friends, though almost none of the members were Pattars. On such occasions, I believe he also indulged in a moderate tipple, always Brandy and soda, the favourite drink in Kerala of those days. But even this was gradually given up by the time he was sixty .

In talking about his sartorial tastes, I may have unwittingly given the impression that he was anglicised or perhaps even a Brown Sahib of the provincial variety. True, he liked to wear suspenders or braces with his trousers, never a belt and used, as many of his generation in Kerala did, only a pocket-watch with chain. In fact, many educated people in Kerala, Christians and Nairs followed a similar dress code in those days. But he was no dandy fop nor was he anything but totally Indian, a well educated Indian lawyer, and a true Pattar. He was a strict vegetarian who said his Sandhyvandanams regularly and had exemplary knowledge of Sanskrit, a language in which he could converse fluently. He also was fond of reading Kalidasa and works of Vedanta and especially fond of the Upanishads. He often used to recite or quote Sanskrit shlokas or Upanishadic couplets in a very appealing and practiced cadence and , no doubt, in all this there was the imprint of his father and of his Sanskrit and Philosophy degrees.

He liked western philosophy, especially Kant and George Santayana (he taught me to pronounce Santa Ana with the A as in Agent). He also used to exhort me in Kant's famous phrase " Sapere aude" or Dare to be Wise. And he could reel off long passages from Shakespeare, Goldsmith, Pope and Milton for our edification, and when in the mood. This was a habit I cultivated from him i.e reading up the old lit though not the ability to quote! He also taught me one Tamil song of his boyhood which went :

முத்துவுக்கு பொண் எங்கே? சேஷா,
முத்துவுக்கு பொண் எங்கே?
அலமேலு பொண் அது அமாவாஸை இருட்டு!!
அத்தங்கா பொண் அது அத்தனையும் திருட்டு!!
அம்மாஞ்சி பொண்ணை நீயும் அறிவாயோடா சேஷா?
அது உதட்டுக்கு ஒன்றரை முழ நீளம் பல்லு!!

(How on earth to find a bride for young Mutthu? Sesha, tell me where do we find a bride for Mutthu? Alamelu's daughter is dark as the New Moon night. Our cousin's daughter is given to thieving! And out Uncle's daughter is buck-toothed!)

He was also fond of the Malayalam song in the 1951 Film Jeevitha Nouka that goes like this:

ആനത്തലയോളം വെണ്ണ തരാമടാ ആനന്ദ ശ്രീകൃഷ്ണാ വാമുരുക്ക്

but only used to hum it sometimes, never vocalise. However, he was not a Kathakali or Chakkiyar Koothu enthusiast unlike my dad and uncles who are men of South Malabar.

Ponnappa took me twice to Chidambaram for Arudra Darshan and we got ringside seats thanks to father's official assignment.He explained the principle of the cosmic dance and the significance of Arudra as also the Deepa Aradhanais and the various upacharams or services to Nataraja. I still catch Arudra Darishanam whenever I can as the Abhishekhan and Alankaram are grand sights to behold in the silence of a December morning. And the Nataraja idols are beautifully bedecked with jewelry and garlands.

Although I have rambled on, I have said very little about his family life, the death from leukemia of his second daughter at 16 or the conflicts between him and my uncle, happily reconciled by efflux of time. For this is about the life and times of a Pattar in the erstwhile Travancore State, the influences on the man, his professional life and the fascinating, multicultural environment in which all this was going on. In other words it is a celebration of his life and memory and personal details do not belong here.

A Pattar of Travancore

In closing I want to relate another vignette, for want of a better term, from his Parur days. This was recalled to mind in 2006 when, at dinner with a friend in Madras I met his mother-in-law who is from Parur. The lady said her family taravad where she grew up is next to the Namburi (Nambutiri) Acchan Aal (Banyan tree) in Parur. Now, Ponnappa had told me that in times long since, perhaps mid 19th century, a Namburiacchan had hung himself to death from this Aal. And he was reputed to haunt the place. Once, in his late teens, when Ponnappa was walking home past the Aal around midnight, he saw a figure in the usual Kerala whites under the Aal. Thinking it was old Shangunni Pillai, a man who lived nearby, he hailed him :

എന്ധാ പിള്ളയച്ചാ, എന്ധാണോ ആവോ ഈ അസമയത്ത്?

(Hallo Mr Pillai, why are you abroad at this late hour).

And the figure, all of a sudden, disappeared. A disconcerted Ponnappa, who was only about 16 then, walked briskly homewards humming "Mmmmmmm ...." to keep up his composure! Of course, he never believed in ghosts as an adult, and has told me we should fear only the living human who is capable of incalculable harm and not an imaginary ghost which could do nothing. But still! I mean he was only 16 and surprised suddenly.

The lady confirmed the facts about the Namburiacchan Aal and added that she too has heard that one Shangunni Pillai used to live nearby in the old times. So this, for me, was Parur being unexpectedly brought to life in almost Proustian fashion, a pleasantly agreeable way of touching the remote past once again. It was good to know that the Aal still stands, that Shangunni Pillai was remembered in her time and that the past, thus, lives on in the oral tradition. If this write-up can similarly bring Ponnappa to recall again among my family and cousins and aunts I will be delighted.

I also wrote this as an account of a Pattar life in the larger backdrop of Travancore mores and culture, as I understood them to be in his time, and of how the life of a Pattar in the Travancore region was different socially from Pattar life in Malabar and Palghat. It is also my impression that those in Malabar and, especially, in Travancore were more closely knit into the fabric of Kerala society than the ones in Palghat area. This, of course, is a statement on which there can be more than one take but that is what I think!

This below is the follow-up post which I wrote in Sep 2007 (also first published in my brother's blog & reproduced here)


EPILOGUE - OUR HOLS IN ALWAYE




Reading through the previous write-up, I got the impression that, though entirely sympathetic, it has turned out a somewhat clinical portrayal of Ponnappa and his life and times. I think I should add some local colour and mention our holidays in Alwaye. Also introduce some Notables from the mini- procession of humanity that we came into intimate contact with in those days. In short, add a slice of life by way of this addendum. Well, that is how blogs keep growing and my brother Kannan is adding a fair bit of his own, separately.




As kids, my brother Kannan, sister Shobhi and myself, Sudarshan the eldest, were exiled away for each school year in the hot and sultry plains of Tamil Nadu, mostly Madurai and Madras, wherever our dad was posted within that state. After our early exposure to Kerala, the Tamil landscape and language seemed harsh and impoverished, especially when contrasted with the sweeter and genteel sounding Malayalam. And we longed for our annual retreat-cum-sanctuary in the spa - like climate of leafy Alwaye in the TLC of our maternal grandparents. 



Although Tamilians, we had all grown up feeling we were people of Kerala, a feeling that has endured to this day, not unnatural considering that the state of Kerala has been home to our family for 500 years or more. And Alwaye combined all the advantages of a small town with its tendency, manifest even then,to coalesce rapidly with nearby Ernakulam and Cochin.



The Situation at Bank Road


A summer vacation in Alwaye had many delights to offer us, notably the warm, cosy, nurturing atmosphere at my grandparents' house which we regarded as our other, and favoured, home. The house was on Bank Road in Alwaye, a short, quiet, leafy and neat road in the heart of town. At one end of the road was Pankajam Cinema, owned by Pankajam Swami or Neelakantan Iyer, (aka Neelandan Swami) who was both a client and a friend of Ponnappa and lived across the road from us on Bank Road itself. Half-way down the road, about 150 yards from Pankajam, was our house and the short road ran up an incline for another 150 yards and exited into a junction. 

The house had a 40 foot setback from the gate and there were jack and rubber trees in this front yard. The road was home to a number of banks, with bank headquarters on either side of our house. And, in retrieving the cricket balls that flew over the wall I made my first, tentative but drastic forays into my chosen career of banking - drastic in that the entry next door always involved scaling the compound wall.



The inside of the house was deliciously cool and the first story was mostly given to Ponnappa's practice, its verandah and his outer office accommodating as many as 40 clients sometimes and still more inside his spacious office, lined with legal books and general reading of a varied kind. My uncle's bedroom was also upstairs, at the end of the verandah. Our own day-time domain was the corresponding downstairs verandah about the same 30 foot in length but wider, at 20 foot, by about 5 feet. 


Whenever the fancy took us, the radiogram would play endless repeats of old film songs like 'Kaayalarigatthu' or ' Maanennum vilikkilla' or, perhaps, 'Erikkarayin mele' or 'Laddu mitthai venuma', all of them signature tunes of my boyhood. And, moreover, there was the music broadcast to the street by the Pankajam Cinema, a homing signal or muezzin's call reminding the faithful to commune at the matinee, evening and night shows.




There were upperis (chips) various, cashew fresh toasted in shells, wheat halwa, tapioca pappadoms and other edibles and comestibles, all home-made, or delicious Priora mangoes in season. In short, everything to feed that schoolboy gluttony which Evelyn Waugh has described as the Master Passion of boyhood. We were always to be found with our mouths full or breathlessly playing cricket with rubber balls ( with a hard stone core inside) fashioned by us from the rubber trees in the compound. And, even when playing, our pockets would be stuffed with upperi and other delectable trifles to sustain our strength. Neighbourhood boys such as Rajamani and his brothers or our cousins visiting from Parur or Cochin made up a scratch team of at least 3 or 4 on each side. And in the mornings there was the veritable Rogues' Gallery of Ponnappa's clientele besides some notables like Julian, Dr Vallabhan and others. I always watched this mini parade in total fascination, taking stock of the varied classes, creeds and backgrounds they came from.


Outings & Excursions



There was always the bathing in the Aluva Puzha or Periyaar river to look forward to. But this was possible only about two or three times each summer, when an adult felt inclined to shepherd us there and back. And no more riverside excursions once Edabappaadhi or the end of May came up, signifying the onset of the Monsoons. It was then time for Ponnappa and his clerk Bhaskaran or Bhasi to batten down for the lashing rains to come, arranging masons to fix suspect spots in the roofing, dusting up the umbrellas and Olakkudas (palm leaf umbrellas worn like a hat and, thus, hands free) and so on. Anyway the Periaar would be in spate in the rains and was not considered safe for us. 



But, when it was possible, the outings to the river, splashing about in the cool, fresh waters, were very much looked forward to. And there would be all sorts of sights and sounds, advertising caravans for the movie houses, elephants bathing in the river, visits to the Krishna temple on the banks, on the way to the river and back.




And, notable amongst the local attractions, there was the Pankajam cinema to which the family had free and unrestricted access, a privilege that was seldom used in the rest of the year except by Ponnappa. He would, during the rest of the year, make monthly visits for a stroll, a chat and a smoke with the proprietor if he was around and a 15-minute spell inside the movie hall. But Ponnappa too visited Pankajam more often when we were at Alwaye. 


And we, the grand children, were permitted to indulge within well defined limits i.e not oftener than weekly. My brother Kannan, who contrived somehow to go almost daily, always preferred to sit in the Projection Room with the projectionist who he was friends with. But I preferred the dark sanctuary of the cinema hall proper where I usually found myself a seat on the upper level in the so-called box seats or the Dress Circle.




The Pankajam cinema hall was perpetually in a fug or miasma compounded of stale and live smoke from beedies and cigarettes, the furious munching of peanuts wrapped in newspaper cones, not to mention a certain all-pervasive BO emanating from the assembled multitude, the sort of conditions to gag you on entry. And you always saw the movie through a haze of tobacco smoke swirling up and visible in the beam of the Projector. But I found this atmosphere heady and agreeable, not only because I could smoke a restorative fag or two myself (fags purloined from Ponnappa's stock and stashed for just such an occasion) in the darkness. But and this is more to the point, I could do so away from the notice of Kannan in the Projection Room. For, had he been witness to the trespass, he might conceivably report the proceedings to my mom or, worse still, to Ponnappa.



Also, the general spirit within the cinema hall was jolly and mildly rowdy. The action was always from the floor and bench ticket seats below and one found their antics more interesting than the movie itself. The on-screen histrionics of a Sathyan or Thikkurisi left these sturdy denizens of the 40 P and 75 P seats cold. But they responded enthusiastically and vigorously with catcalls, hooting and whistles whenever the buxom Sheela revealed a bit of shapely leg or when the gentle Prem Nazir and the villain were engaged in fisticuffs. There was also much clapping and bench thumping on such occasions. 

The peanuts eaten, the newspaper cones made deadly and accurate projectiles shaped like an arrow and these flew thick and fast. And, besides the women's section below, a missile was as likely to hit you, up in the balcony, a smacking blow on the ear. For these honest fellows represented a microcosm of humanity itself. That is to say, some went for the low-hanging fruit, and I use the term advisedly, in the nearby Ladies' section. But there were yet others who aspired to nobler and higher things, this, in their cases, being the Balcony seats above. And what mattered most was a direct hit and, surely, a rare direct hit in the Balcony was far more satisfying than  1 on the sitting ducks in the ladies' seats. 

Agreeable though it was, this sort of banality began to pall after about 45 minutes and I would beat it homewards, only to look forward to a return visit in a few days.



There were also outings to Cochin and Parur, visiting aunts, uncles and cousins for the day. And, on the way back from Parur, we would halt at Ponnappa's 16 acre coconut farm for refreshments, usually several drinks of tender coconut water with the soft kernels to follow, accompanied by doses of jaggery or Naadan vellam or sarkara. The farm was under the care of Chatthan, Ponnappa's farm CEO cum factotum rolled into one, who lived onsite with his family. Chatthan and his family would crowd round us and our mother and an informal friendship, helped along by all those tender coconuts, was struck. 


My grandmother and mother considered the farm one of Ponnappa's follies or viddithams but it later produced a good income for my uncle. And, still later, when it was sold for a more than tidy sum and the proceeds divvied up between brother and sister, my mother did not complain.

2 Originals - Panki & Bhasi  




Bhasi



I should begin with Bhaskaran or Bhasi, Ponnappa's longstanding Advocate's clerk who lived between Alwaye and Parur, in his village just a 20 minute bus ride away. He was on duty by 8.15 or so each morning, just as clients started filing in and would skive off by about 4 P.M on most days. Some days he would be around till about 5, rarely, if ever, later. He served Ponnappa like this all of the latter's time in Alwaye, over 20 years on the trot. He was a short, diminutive little figure in the obligatory mundu and white shirt or sometimes Jibba, his crinkly salt and pepper hair slicked down with copious libations of coconut oil. In fact, I always remember Bhasi for the combination whiff of coconut oil and beedi afterbreath that he carried with him wherever he went.



Now, an Advocate's Clerk, if he is any good @ all, should be his boss's alter ego or conscience keeper and Bhasi, I know, was one of the best of his breed. Juniors may come and go, they usually flit by but a good clerk stays with his Advocate for life. Bhasi's domain was the principal outer office, which was the upstairs long verandah, and he marshalled the clients into order and shape from there. The case-sheeters among the clientele held him in considerable esteem as signified by their cash hand-outs to him which exceeded his monthly pay by a factor of 4 or 5 easily. In fact, a good Advocate's clerk usually derives a more than tidy income in this way and his monthly pay, though adequate, is a mere stipend to him. And no good Advocate should grudge his Clerk's earnings on the side.



In fact, Bhasi, more than most, deserved all he earned. For he was an adept in suggesting to Ponnappa, with a discreet, preliminary Jeevesian cough, that perhaps a perjuring witness was required to be procured in certain circumstances if the larger truth of the accused's genuine innocence was to be established. And Bhasi also always managed to procure a plausible and credible one willing, for a small fee, to serve the ultimate cause of truth by providing an alibi in cases where the actual witness had proved un-cooperative or even turned hostile. Ponnappa, shrewdly, would have nothing personally to do with such machinations, so it was all done with mirrors, so to speak or a nod and a wink. 


And Bhasi, who was not trained in law, could nevertheless remind Ponnappa of some case law or precedent from one of the previous cases out of his actual experience. Or he could suggest a particularly mean court-room manouevre, such as a request for an adjournment or a technical objection, which would leave the Prosecution spluttering and sputtering and render them non combat. Such were the ways of our Bhasi, who played Master Tactician to Ponnappa's Grand Strategist, and thus was the true course of Justice sometimes served.




Ponnappa's irascible temper could sometimes be directed at Bhasi for some oversight or omission but he was always equal to the onslaught, responding with his tactics of submissive circumlocution and dissimulation to take the sting out of the attacks. He was one of the few who knew how to handle Ponnappa. In any case, their relationship was, by and large, one of mutual regard and reciprocity and Ponnappa, I know, performed many kindnesses to Bhasi and others like Chatthan. In fact, in his last days, he made a settlement of cash and land to Bhasi as a retirement provision and Chatthan was also similarly taken care of. 


It was a feudal sort of relationship, obligations existed on both sides and had to be, and were, scrupulously met. But that having been said, Ponnappa could sometimes drive Bhasi round the bend and the latter would respond with his disarming counter-manouvres and manipulation. It was a game that both sides enjoyed but there was also a friendship between the two men bedrock below the patron-client equation. And many confidences were exchanged to my own knowledge. I like to think that in these ways, in fact in more ways than one, each got his money's worth out of the other.




Our own relationship with Bhasi was totally friendly and we looked up to him for Alwaye lore, street wisdom, news of the latest movies, etc. Bhasi also taught us all the Mallu swear-words and also some bawdy songs. So he was a friend and confidant to us kids as well, always having time for us. I have never, ever, seen Bhasi flustered or agitated not even when Ponnappa was on the rampage. 

Sometimes, when Bhasi had to take me to Ernakulam to write an entrance exam or for a textbook to be purchased, he also let me smoke a surreptitious Beedi or two with him. But all that was on such rare outings only, never at home. For Beedies give off such a bloody awful post-smoke stench in the breath that both he and I dared not expose ourselves! 


Panki

Panki or Pankajakshi was a bird of a different feather, being my grandmother's night time maid and companion. My grandfather and grandmother by then had separate bedrooms, adjacent to each other. And, grandmother being asthmatic, it was thought wise to have someone to attend to her at night with supplies of hot water or medicines when needed. And the admirable Panki, of her own volition, stepped into the breach and performed this service for as long as grandmother lived. 


Panki's mother was the day maid at home, to sweep and mop up and do the dishes. Her name was Paru but we always called her Ammoommai or granny and that is how she was known to us, a lady of 65 or so with a shoulder cloth in place of a blouse and pierced ear lobes hanging loose, always all smiles. Her second daughter Ammini was happily married and living in Trivandrum with her husband and visiting occasionally.




But Panki's husband had gone AWOL a long time back and she had to fend for herself and her only son Gopalakrishnan who sometimes joined us for cricket. This Gopalakrishnan used to frequent the floor section of Pankajam cinema on most days and he, I strongly suspected, was the leader of the missile squadron which targeted the Balcony at the cinema. So, at cricket, I always made sure to hit him hard with the hard rubber ball and I like to think this had the desired effect, for the missiles didn't land so much at the Pankajam Balcony thereafter! 

Panki held a good job in a local factory and used to turn up by about 7 P.M and stay until about 5 or 5.30 in the morning. At least once a week though she would go see a movie at Pankajam and turn up by 9.30 P.M and eat the dinner that grandmother had kept for her. Her duties were non-existent beyond gently massaging my grandmother's legs before bedtime, as grandmother never had an emergency at night and Panki could sleep undisturbed. She was provided dinner and her morning tea and grandmother and Ponnappa looked after her in many ways including regular monthly payments. 


The leg pressing was voluntary on Panki's part and her real recompense was by way of grandmother reading out to her from Malayalam feature and film magazines, the while the legs were being pressed and longer. And grandmother was handsomely repaid by Panki with the day's town gossip, the stories of the films she had seen and, especially, by her cheerful presence and companionship. In this way each gleaned much about the ways of the world from the other, in Panki's case the world of film stars by proxy and in grandmother's case the town lore, also by proxy!




Panki, of the time I am writing about, 1965 or so, was about 32 or 33, very old by my standards. But I suddenly found myself stealing glances at her svelte, lissom and dusky figure dressed in a mundu or lungi and a blouse on top, as was the custom in Kerala for the working classes. Little did I know it then but I was reaching my adolescence and my awareness of Panki's figure signposted that transition. But I knew it was not polite to look and would avert my gaze and disappear from the scene. When I passed by again, an hour or so later, I would find Panki lying trussed up in the cavernous dining room, next to grandmother's room, covered in a white sheet, which was her own mundu, from head to foot and sleeping the sleep of the blessed! I was reminded of P.G.Wodehouse's Uncle Fred Story in which his nephew imitates the 'sheeted dead'. Ponnappa, after looking up his Shakespeare concordance, told me the allusion came from Hamlet, one of his favourite plays :


The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets



By the time we got up, by 7 A.M, Panki would have been gone, to take her dip in the Periaar, then worship at the Krishna Kshetram and onwards for her breakfast. Panki remained in our service, replacing her old mother Ammoommai, till Chithammai's death in 1970.



Whither Alwaye?

The trouble was that we were all growing up and Ponnappa and Chitthammai or Meenakshi, my grandmother, getting older. I last went to Alwaye in 1969, the year of my graduation and Kannan and Shobhi for a year or two more. Grandmother died in 1970 during surgery in Madras for suspected cancer. She was only 57 then and Ponnappa was never the same man again. He went into a decline thereafter, gave up the Bank Road property and found a new one in another part of Alwaye. This property my uncle inherited and it is where his wife, aunt Rukmani, still lives. 


When he died in May 1972, I had already completed a Business degree as well and was into my first job. And there was to be no more Alwaye. True, my uncle was there but no Ponnappa or Chitthammai and it was not the same thing at all. And we would also miss all those warm and friendly relationships, the grand Acchayan, Julian, Dr Vallabhan and Moidukka, not to forget Panki, Bhasi and Ammoommai. Besides the world itself was changing and, we with it.




About 15 years back, I was reading a book on landscape history which had the following Latin quotation from Horace (with a helpful translation supplied) :



Ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes Angulus ridet 

(It is that corner of the world, above all others, which has a smile for me). 

And here is a nice picture I found on the Net (to go with the quote) :



I have found other corners with a smile since then but Alwaye was the first such.




I was at last back in Alwaye (now Aluva) in Nov 2006, some 37 years after my last holiday. I had exactly 10 minutes to drive up to Bank Road and do a quick recce. Pankajam Cinema is now gone but in its place stands the Pankajam Complex, new built and modern. Perhaps Pankajam Swami's family still own the place, I could not find out. Bank Road (now, perhaps more correctly, called Bank Street) has no more banks but it is still the quiet, neat, leafy street it always has been. At first glance everything looked familiar and when the car neared the steep incline my excitement and anticipation grew. But I could not identify Ponnappa's old house, it was gone, also gone were the familiar landmarks, the wicket gate to the house of Padmini and her mother, a Nair family bang opposite who were Chitthammai and mom's friends, and their house itself. A new structure stood where Pankajam Swami's house was, also just diagonally across the street.



And I could identify Ponnappa's house only by the plot size and the position of the good old Jack trees which still stood. There was a brand new house with little or no setback in place of the old structure and I did not want to go in and talk to the occupants. I had no time and, besides, it would have been pointless. I came away disappointed and drove on to Cochin where I had more work to do.



But I have always liked to think that, if there be an afterlife and a Superior Court of Justice in it, Ponnaapa promptly took his silk there and is fighting his clients' corner, with the incomparable Bhasi by his side ! In saying this, I hope I haven't dispatched Bhasi before his time. We know that his elder brother Shankaran, who was Clerk to my grand uncle and Ponnappa's immediate elder brother who practiced at Ernakulam, is no more. Bhasi, if alive, should be about 80 or 85 now.


I had a conversation with Vasumathi on returning home from Alwaye which went thus :

V: So you regretted going there?
Self : Yes.
V : And you wish you had let things be?
Self : Yes
V : But when you get the chance you are going back again?
Self : Yes.
V ; And you are, of course, going to inflict yourself on the occupants when you do?
Self : Of course, of course.

So, watch this space !

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