My Uncle
Prof T.R.K.Marar, My Uncle
Chewing the cud of childhood memories, as I try to rediscover the pleasures of my younger days, one thing that comes prominently in mind, is my introduction to the world of literature through the stories narrated by my uncle Prof.T.R.K.Marar.Summer vacation in those days was a time we looked forward to, not only because it gave freedom from the monotonous routine of school, but also because it was the time we could hear interesting stories from world classics told by our uncle who used to spend his vacation with his aged mother at home .We had story sessions in the evenings. Sharp at 50’clock we used to assemble in the portico of the house ready to listen to him He would then come fresh after his evening bath smelling of cuticura powder and eudecologne and take his seat in the cane chair while we children sat on the floor. Even my septuagenarian grand mother was an enthusiastic member of the crowd who listened to his stories in spellbound silence
Maugli who lived in the jungle with wild animals, Oliver Twist, the orphan boy who asked for more food, Edmund Dante who sacrificed his life for love and friendship, Lady Macbeth whose hands could not be sweetened by all the perfumes of Arabia------all became living characters to us kindling our imagination and arousing our curiosity. To lend a touch of reality to the narration he often named some of the characters in the classics after our friends. Though a Professor of English, he was equally well versed in Indian mythology. The stories of Mahabharatha held a special charm on us. Arjuna with his unerring aim, Bhima who could consume a cart-load of food in minutes and Karna whose generosity knew no bounds –all became our heroes thanks to his wonderful way of narrating their exploits, Often we vied with one another in making each one of them our favourite.
The session would come to an end at 6oclock when it was time for evening prayers. The gathering would have to disperse reluctantly then and wait with bated breath till next evening to know what happened and whose assumption would be proved right
Disabled at a very young age, [his right leg having been amputated in his early 30’s], my uncle never gave in to despair or self-pity His determination to lead a normal life despite his handicap was quite remarkable. He took up what would have been a cause for utter dejection for others as a challenge and led a normal life till the end .His suffering only made him love life more. With his inexhaustible repertoire of jokes and and humorous anecdotes he could amuse and entertain people of all ages. On all important occasions at home, especially for weddings., he would compose a poem and one of us would have to recite it at the family gathering It was all real fun and everyone enjoyed it
Now that he is no more we miss all this. Though two decades have passed after his passing away the memory of his narration is still fresh in my mind. Even now when I turn the pages of some old classics, I can visualize him sitting in the cane chair and narrating stories in his own in inimitable style How I wish in vain those days would come again.
Chewing the cud of childhood memories, as I try to rediscover the pleasures of my younger days, one thing that comes prominently in mind, is my introduction to the world of literature through the stories narrated by my uncle Prof.T.R.K.Marar.Summer vacation in those days was a time we looked forward to, not only because it gave freedom from the monotonous routine of school, but also because it was the time we could hear interesting stories from world classics told by our uncle who used to spend his vacation with his aged mother at home .We had story sessions in the evenings. Sharp at 50’clock we used to assemble in the portico of the house ready to listen to him He would then come fresh after his evening bath smelling of cuticura powder and eudecologne and take his seat in the cane chair while we children sat on the floor. Even my septuagenarian grand mother was an enthusiastic member of the crowd who listened to his stories in spellbound silence
Maugli who lived in the jungle with wild animals, Oliver Twist, the orphan boy who asked for more food, Edmund Dante who sacrificed his life for love and friendship, Lady Macbeth whose hands could not be sweetened by all the perfumes of Arabia------all became living characters to us kindling our imagination and arousing our curiosity. To lend a touch of reality to the narration he often named some of the characters in the classics after our friends. Though a Professor of English, he was equally well versed in Indian mythology. The stories of Mahabharatha held a special charm on us. Arjuna with his unerring aim, Bhima who could consume a cart-load of food in minutes and Karna whose generosity knew no bounds –all became our heroes thanks to his wonderful way of narrating their exploits, Often we vied with one another in making each one of them our favourite.
The session would come to an end at 6oclock when it was time for evening prayers. The gathering would have to disperse reluctantly then and wait with bated breath till next evening to know what happened and whose assumption would be proved right
Disabled at a very young age, [his right leg having been amputated in his early 30’s], my uncle never gave in to despair or self-pity His determination to lead a normal life despite his handicap was quite remarkable. He took up what would have been a cause for utter dejection for others as a challenge and led a normal life till the end .His suffering only made him love life more. With his inexhaustible repertoire of jokes and and humorous anecdotes he could amuse and entertain people of all ages. On all important occasions at home, especially for weddings., he would compose a poem and one of us would have to recite it at the family gathering It was all real fun and everyone enjoyed it
Now that he is no more we miss all this. Though two decades have passed after his passing away the memory of his narration is still fresh in my mind. Even now when I turn the pages of some old classics, I can visualize him sitting in the cane chair and narrating stories in his own in inimitable style How I wish in vain those days would come again.
posted by ammu at 1:08 AM
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