It’s beautiful here in Munnar in the day time. The gentle slopes allow the whole expanse to be visible from any high point, and the sun rays filtered down by the clouds, glimmering on their way down in parts and pieces render an ethereal air to this place. The green vast expanses of the coffee orchards compliment the golden shimmer of the sun’s light and in totality with the blue-grey of the skies, offer a multitude of not only colours, but also of emotions to the viewer. The slight mist in the mornings, that end up as water droplets on the coffee leaves look like diamonds sparkling in green velvet. It’s one of the most beautiful places I have even seen in my life in the day time.
At night, it tends to become spooky.
I’ve been here for almost 6 months now. I came from Delhi, to learn and research about coffee plantations, and the prospects for developing newer varieties of coffee that can do without chicory. Pretty ironical, to think of studying coffee, given that I come from a predominantly “Chai” culture. But that’s a totally different story.
I got here from a flight to Kozhikode, the erstwhile Calicut, where King Zamorin (Ruler of the Seas) allowed the Portuguese to start trading about 500 years ago. Known for spices, condiments and coffee, this land of greenery and scenic wonders amazed me. For a city boy, who has only seen skyscrapers and shanties in the cities, this was quite extraordinary. I took the bus to Munnar, and landed at the Carine Coffee production setup there. I was received there and taken to meet the Operations Manager, a lady by the name of Lakshmikutty. Her story is what I am here to tell you.
LK, (that’s what I called her), was a tall, slim and dark-complexioned lady in her mid-thirties. She was single and was residing in one of the bedrooms of the guest house. She was in charge of the coffee production unit here, and managed the entire doings of the 45 employees working here. She was good at her job, not a doubt about it. Very vocal, and very energetic, this dynamic lady could make a dead person stand up and work. But outside of work, she was an entirely different person. She was shy, reserved, and almost reticent when not working. I know her well outside of work, because I put up in the same guest house with her. I couldn’t afford a hotel here, and there weren’t any dorms that I could put up in. The company owner, one Mr. E. S. Prasanth, asked LK if she would be comfortable with me putting up in the other bedroom of the guest house, and she did not mind.
I got to know the company better, and LK’s knowledge of it all astounded me. She was devoted to her job, and knew all the ins and outs of coffee like the back of her hand. She worked for the pure joy of it. (Her salary wasn’t all that good). She had barely any visitors, and those who came never stayed too long. She was lonely, and since I was the only person around after work, we got to know each other pretty well.
I still remember. Every day after work, I’d take a stroll through the hills and valleys, the beauty of it all never dying to my thirsty eyes. When I’d get to the guest house, LK would make me the best coffee ever. I turned into a coffee person. My mother hated it, saying, “You will go all black with curly hair if you keep drinking coffee!” I couldn’t help laughing. Over this coffee, LK and I would discuss things a lot. She was a very good writer, and sometimes she read out some of her poetry to me. Initially, we found it tough to have conversations, and we were always struggling in awkward silences in each other’s company. But then we opened up to each other. Her insights into Indian, and especially Kerala, history were razor sharp. She was a very good writer, (as I have already mentioned) and she was very interested in knowing about how people live in big cities and what’s different and what’s not.
I slowly learnt that she had no family per se, only distant relatives, who really weren’t more than just that – distant. Her parents had died a few years back of natural causes, and she hadn’t married because she never wanted to.
This rapport went on for a while. Then things started to change. For the worse. The company was slowly going bankrupt. It wasn’t a very large revenue generator in any case, always just breaking even. But the fertilizer rates going up affected the whole system here. LK started getting tense day by day, and started working extra to patch things up. But it just was not working out correct. I could only stand and watch as I was also almost about to end my research term here.
But something happened. LK started pouring in money to the company chest. I don’t know where she got it from, and it was a mystery. She never revealed it, and I, though inquisitive, was not a person who would force answers.
One night, I was strolling in the market, and a couple of cops came up to me saying that I had to report to the police station. I went willingly, knowing that this must just be a formality. I ended up spending the whole night in prison. Apparently, there had been a spate of 7 murders in the last fortnight. All of the victims had their internal organs cut out. Some had no kidneys, some had no liver. And some even had their eyeballs gauged out. It was horrifying. Luckily, next morning, the security guard came by on my phone call and attested to me being at work during the day times, and at the guest house during nights. I was released from prison, and I went back to my room feeling very depressed.
LK was waiting for me there. She made me some coffee and handed me a piece of paper. I read through it. I couldn’t understand at first. Then it hit me like a lightning bolt. The coffee cup in my hand started shaking with the trembling of my hand. This was on the piece of paper:
Ashwini – 7000/-
Ramendran – 12000/-
Appukuttan – 10000/-
Abu Backer – 5500/-
Vijayanathan – 6000/-
Satheesh – 3500/-
Ammu – 7500/-
There was one more name in the list. The last one. It was mine. But it had no figures next to it. I looked up at LK, and she just lowered her eyes.
- Vinaykrishnan.
(Thanks for the idea, loved it!)
No comments:
Post a Comment