Memories: Soochi Varkey Chettan to Ravi - the Tailors of Olavipe.

Among the gifts that I received for my last birthday was a nice Nike yellow T-shirt. Recently when I wore it with a pair of khaki pants my mind went back about sixty-five years, to a boy going on eight. I could see myself again wearing a smaller version of the T-shirt tucked into brand new khaki short-pants. A bamboo stick was my sword and I was fighting the army of arrowroot plants that cropped up at random in Olavipe.

The attire was a dream one for me. During holidays at Peruvanthanam (near Peermade) I used to watch with admiration Kunjappu Achan (Chacko A. Kallivayalil), Ammachi’s second brother, leaving for the family estates clad in white shirt, khaki pants, khaki stockings, brown shoes and a pith hat. Now I was dressed almost akin to him and felt proud about it.

The memory of that event made prompted me to write this piece. Soochi (needle) Varkey (Malayalam version of George) Chettan (a respectful salutation to elders) was probably the first tailor of Olavipe. He was my grandfather’s contemporary. I remember him vaguely - shaven head, wearing a dhoti (no shirt), a thorth (thin local towel) on his shoulder, and a scapular around the neck. It was said that he always carried needle and thread and thimble in the fold of his sarong at the waist.

I wonder what he used to stitch. His generation didn’t wear shirts. Even my grandfather didn’t. At Olavaip, trousers were seen only when an occasional sahib called on grandfather. Appan’s clothes, at least when he went to St. Albert’s School and Maharaja’s College at Cochin, were made by Newfield of Broadway, By Appointment Cutters and Tailors to His Highness The Maharaja of Cochin.

Varkey Chettan's son, Kochu, followed the same profession, but was called ‘thayyalkaran’ (tailor). For some reason, Kochu shifted to Thycattussarry. Kochu’s son John was my classmate. He obtained a white-collar job. One of John’s sons was ordained a priest.

Currently there are several tailors in Olavipe. But the family’s tailor now is Ravi, late cook Govindan’s son. He is intelligent and grasps instructions quickly, has a sense of fashion, and excellent in stitching from patterns. I don’t think anybody calls him ‘tailor’. Quite rightly too, because he is a jack of all trades. He is the only man in Olavipe, as far as I have seen, who walks fast and purposefully. Amazing, considering the fact that twenty years or so back the doctors had pronounced him a terminal cancer patient!

But the man who made the short pants that I wore sixty-five years back was Ponnakkeri Pappu. He was the family tailor for decades. Later on he started a textile shop at Poochakkal and did well for himself.

Pappu’s smile was like a splash of sunshine. It seemed to say, ‘I’m happy to see you, to be with you, to listen to what you say’. It was something that came from the heart. Whenever I think of him the smile is what I remember most.

Once as I was walking home after Sunday mass Pappu happened to be walking beside me. When we reached the gate I asked him to come in. He was served breakfast and I sat with him. It was, I’m sure, the first time that he had a meal sitting at the formal dining table of the house. He was obviously touched by it. While taking leave after the meal he tried to smile, but tears were rolling down his cheeks.

That was the last I saw him. He died a few months later.

Oru Desathinte Amma.

Ammachi.

Mrs. Rosakutty Kochupappu Tharakan.
(1909-1995)
Thekkanattu Parayil.

Ammachi was born into a prominent old family near Palai, in the foothills of the Western Ghats of Kerala. Her father, late Mr. KC Abraham (Kallivayalil-Konduparambil) was perhaps the largest landowner in that area He was one of the first Indians to venture into organized plantations.

Ammachi was married at the age of fifteen. And from the mountainside she came to Olavipe, into the lap of the waves. She lived at Thekkanattu Parayil, the house that her father-in-law (who had died before her wedding) had built, for 71 long years. She gave birth to fifteen children. Three died young. She brought up the remaining eight sons and four daughters and lived on to see all of them well settled in life.

Of the many things that I remember of Ammachi, one stands out. When Appan died I had to temporarily break my career and attend to urgent matters at home. There were Income Tax arrears, Estate Duty, and Gift Tax (Appan and Ammachi had gifted some of their properties to the children to meet education expenses) to be paid. And we were facing a cash crunch.

One morning Ammachi asked me for Rs.500. She said that the marriage of a Brahmin girl in Olavipe was fixed but her family was short of Rs.500 to pay the dowry. That was not a small amount in 1959. I explained about our financial difficulties but Ammachi insisted, and the wedding took place as scheduled. That was the kind of compassion she had. The tax problems were sorted out in due course.

Sunday Herald (Sunday edition of Deccan Herald, Bangalore) dated September 18, 2005 carried an article about Ammachi by Shiela Kumar titled ‘Beneath the wings of a ministering angel’. It focused mainly the exemplary way in which she had brought up her children. The following quote from the article is revealing: “Of course, differences tended to crop up [within the family] from time to time. This was a family of humans after all, not potential saints. However, at times such as these, her clear-cut rules held strong. She had instilled it into her family that they were all part of one entity and how, for that entity to function well, it was essential for all to pull together, harmoniously. Love conquers all, she repeated over and over again and soon, the clan had absorbed that dictum. Soon, they also found love did conquer all differences or at least, made it fade away into insignificance.” Even today, when Ammachi’s great-great grandchildren are growing up, the family bonds are strong and active.

Ammachi’s domain extended far beyond her immediate family. Many relatives, institutions, and common people benefited from her counsel, compassion and generosity. She was, in fact, ‘Oru Desathinte Amma’ (mother to a land). The thousands who attended her funeral demonstrated the respect, love and affection people had for her.

Ends.

Also see:

The House That Grandfather Built.

Ammachi's Health Recipe - may lower cholesterol, blood sugar.

Appan.

PA Kochupappu Tharakan.

1903-1959.
Thekkanattu Parayil.

Appan was studying for the intermediate at The Maharaja’s College, Ernakulam (Cochin), and being groomed to write the Indian Civil Service examination in London, when his father, PM Avira Tharakan died. He was an only son and had to takeover the family responsibilities. We were landed gentry owning large areas of coconut plantations and paddy fields. He was also involved in business activities and along with my maternal uncle Jose A. Kallivayalil, was director of several companies.

Among the public Appan was known as ‘Gentleman’ Parayil (not that the other Parayils were un-gentlemanly). He was a voracious reader. He had fifteen children – eleven sons and four daughters. The first three, all boys, died early. I am the eldest surviving son.

Appan used to discuss with us many subjects including world affairs. It was from him that I first learned the concept of Provident Fund. While I was in high school, our workers were being paid 14 ‘chakrams’ per day while the outside rate was 15. (28 chakrams made 1 Travancore rupee; British rupee exchange was 28.5 chakrams.) I felt that we were being unfair to our workers and took up the matter with Appan.

He explained to me that when we held back one chakram of the worker, we were undertaking a great obligation. Whenever the man had a genuine need, like food, medical treatment, marriage of children etc. we were obligated to take care of it irrespective of whether his money held back by us would cover the expenses; there were no limits.

A couple of days before Appan died, we were discussing about progress. Great changes were taking place. A Communist government had been voted into power in the State. The land limitation programme that was being pushed by the leftists was sure to result in families like ours losing large areas.

Appan gave me a near perfect statement on progress: ‘Progress means a series of changes and adjustments.’ He had constantly imbibed into us the need to study well and obtain jobs. If he had gone through with the pursuit of ICS, he would have been the first in the Parayil Family to break away from the land bound tradition. As it happened, that honour came to me.

Appan lies buried in the family crypt in the cemetery chapel of St. Anthony’s Church, Thycattussarry, which was built by the Parayil Tharakans in 1791.

Ends.

Also see:

Oru Desathinte Amma.

The House That Grandfather Built.