Travails Through Tides: Memoirs of a Believer

By Cherian Pulimootil

What is life all about? It is a serious question asked by many, especially when threatened with uncertainties and personal tragedies. An appropriate answer to such a question is necessary to lead a meaningful and purpose-filled life.

Cherian Pulimootil’s book, the Travails through Tides, tells his personal struggles and times of powerlessness through his life. When he was just about to give up, believing he was destined to his fate, he turned to God for help. With the power of prayer, he is strengthened to tide over his difficulties. He reveals a number of near-death experiences that changed him. It is a captivating story touched by his bountiful spirit of honesty, tenacity, and faith in God.

The book is an easy read and highlights the influence of cultural and religious values in a person’s life. Its few chapters include detailed travel experiences to various landmarks in India, U.S.A., and Israel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664208988

Cherian Pulimootil

Dr. Cherian has taught high school and university students for a quarter of a century and also served as a priest of the Episcopal Church for over a decade. By giving up a successful career in accountancy to seek a formal theological education, he reached the United States, leaving behind some of the social traditions of his Indian roots. He became a strong voice of equality and justice against caste, gender discrimination, dowry, arranged marriage, poverty, and religious persecution. After serving churches in Virginia and California, he now lives in San Diego with Ann, his wife, and their family.

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and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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ISBN: 978-1-6642-0897-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0896-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0898-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020920135

WestBow Press rev. date: 01/29/2021

I DEDICATE THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY

To

MY FAMILY, FRIENDS, TEACHERS, AND

MINISTERS OF GOD

In one of his letters St. Paul, Christ’s Apostle, writes to Romans in Chapter 8:

"In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose….

If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all….

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword…. No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Preface

Chapter 1     Early Years

Chapter 2     Elementary & Secondary Education

Chapter 3     C.M.S. College, Kottayam

Chapter 4     Employment

Chapter 5     Bridgewater, Virginia

Chapter 6     Sewanee, Tennessee, U.S.A.

Chapter 7     Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu, India

Chapter 8     Learning Through Traveling

Chapter 9     A New Beginning

Chapter 10   Visit To The Holy Land

Chapter 11   Ordination To Priesthood

Chapter 12   Pastoral Challenges

Conclusion

Appendix 1

Appendix 2

Appendix 3

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My story was shaped by several people I mentioned in this book and often without giving their personal names, but I hold all of them close to my heart. Especially, I prostrate before my parents who molded and brought me up to know the Creator, and for giving me two wonderful sisters. I can never think of all four of them without shedding tears of joy for the love that binds us together. The Lord added two special persons also: Ann my wife, and Hannah our daughter. Without God’s precious gift of these six, I have no story to share. What I have heard from them, read from the records kept by my parents, and from my own diaries, laid the foundation for this book. My utmost gratitude to all of them and above all to God, the Creator and Protector of life.

The reader might have noticed that this book is dedicated not only to my family but also to all the friends, teachers and ministers of God who nourished my life. I am truly indebted to them. In addition, the history of my family (Pulimootil), that of my mother’s family (Manchayil), as well as that of my wife’s family (Crumley), along with many records, brochures, manuals about the places, and interfaces with people I had met for personal interviews, helped me in writing this memoir. I am grateful for all such help and inspiration. The sources available were overwhelming and I had to prioritize them to support the main purpose of this book that God is real, the One who influences and guides one’s whole existence and I am a living witness to this fact.

Finally, I express my utmost appreciation to Dr. Susan John for her excellent editorial help and honest criticism in shaping this book. It was the answer to my prayers that the Lord led me to work with her just about the time she retired from the position of Head of the English Department at CMS College, Kottayam, Kerala, after a total of more than thirty years of service as a teacher. Susan’s love for the Pulimootil family, that we both share, must have been the driving force for her to get involved with the crafting of this work. Her father, Mr. P.T. Varghese, was a first cousin of my father’s, and he was one of the godfathers at my baptism. I grew up with a very special regard for him. The affection that our parents had for each other continues into their next generation, as Susan and I had the blessing of working together on this book in honor of our family.

I thank the staff of West Bow publishing company, particularly the coordinators for their excellent support with the publication and marketing of this book. The support of my own family was crucial for the success of this work. Many thanks to Manoj Mathews my nephew, for his valuable suggestions and Ann my wife, for her inspiration. I am immensely grateful to Hannah Sweet, our beloved daughter, for her excellent comments and support, providing me with a well-furnished office-room, and a treadmill for exercise, which helped so much to make good use of my time when COVID-19 has been crippling daily life with social distancing and other restraints.

Cherian Pulimootil, B.A., B.Ed., M.A., M.Div., D.Min.

PREFACE

Autobiographies have been written by royals, presidents, national heroes, scientists, teachers, preachers, and people from all walks of life. But all have something in common and that is to share their stories for the benefit of others. Some had beautiful childhoods and grew up to face tragedies to lose everything they had. Some grew up without much of anything but climbed the ladders of success to have most everything in life. Some were victims of social upheavals, political unrest, persecutions, and wars displacing themselves from their roots to be sojourners. Whatever circumstances might be, some chose to talk about it in writing, or inspired others to write it down for them. But all in all, such stories enabled others to see the world through the eyes of those who talked about it.

I tell my story with the firm conviction that without the grace of God, I would not have been able to reach the place where I am today. I will share the many twists, turns, dead ends, and detours of my life’s journey in the following pages. You may find this story, at least some part of it, like your own experiences. I start with a brief introduction of the family placing it within some of the major socio-religious events which shaped my thoughts while growing up. Then in the prime of my life, influenced by my religious convictions, I left my homeland in search of a new way of life in the United States of America, the land of many immigrants, but soon realized that life’s challenges in the U.S. are not so different from the same elsewhere. The hurdles and obstacles are part of human life and I continue to rely on divine help to achieve the goals I aspired for. After reading the experiences that I relate in this book, if your belief in a loving God has strengthened, then I am content that my time has been well spent.

Another main reason underlying my attempt to share the story is to impart to the present young generation some of the lessons that I had learnt from my own multihued experiences. I hope they may be an eye opener to the young and enable them to be more optimistic about life and face its challenges without sinking deep into the mire of despair and doubt. Let us, old and young alike, move forward in faith and deal with every problem with the firm conviction, that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. Perhaps this may be hard to believe, but it is one that is always relevant whatever the time, clime, race, or gender. Let us live boldly and joyfully with a sense of deeper commitment to God, others, and ourselves. My prayer is that your story too will be as memorable and profound as is mine, rooted in the goodness of God from whom every life has been received as a gift.

Cherian Pilo Pulimootil

4460 Teralta Place

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EARLY YEARS

WORLD WAR II RAGED AMONG the nations of the world. The Axis - Germany, Japan, and Italy - claimed victories in Europe and Asia. The Germans were blasting the city of London with nightly raids. India, the country of my origin, a colony of Great Britain since the eighteenth century, had to fight in the war along with the Allied Forces in which the latter was a partner. At the time of my birth in my mother’s home at Kottayam, Kerala, on November 28, 1940 my father was serving in the Indian military unit stationed in Bangalore, South India. As soon as the news of my birth reached him, my father returned home on leave, eager to see his dear wife and new-born son. Realizing that his presence with his young family was very important, and his own struggle with the tough life in the military, he kept extending his leave, while trying to obtain a voluntary discharge from duty.

My parents were happy to have a son after their first child, a daughter Marykutty, named after the paternal grandmother, Mariam. Marykutty was two and a half years old when I was born and two and a half years after my birth, our younger sister Elsiekutty, was born, and was named after the maternal grandmother, Aleyamma. In accordance with the Syrian Christian practice of naming children after their paternal and maternal grandparents, which had been scrupulously followed, I was given my paternal grandfather’s name, Cherian, a variation of the biblical name Zachariah. However, to close family members and friends, I was known as Kunjumon, meaning little son/little child. My sisters and I grew up in the familiar surroundings of my father’s ancestral home, located at the heart of the ancient town of Kottayam, in the southern state of Kerala. We were part of a big extended family and grew up in the company of uncles, aunts, and cousins on two acres of land owned by my great grandfather, Varghese.

Varghese belonged to a family whose roots went back to the ancient Indian Christian community known as St. Thomas Christians. The traditional belief was that St. Thomas, the apostle of Lord Jesus Christ, arrived at Cranganore in the southwestern coastal region of India to spread the Good News in A.D. 52. The Indian Christian community traces its genesis to those people who had accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior and were baptized by St. Thomas. Later, they were also known as Syrian Christians or Malankara Christians. The non-Christians of the land used to call them Nazranis, which meant ‘followers of the Nazarene.’

By upholding the St. Thomas connection, I do not think that I am in any way propagating a popular view among the Syrian Christians that they are somewhat superior to other Christian groups or to non-Christians. I do not fully subscribe to this view, but it is the matrix in which my family and others like mine are embedded. The values by which I have lived all my life have their basis here, and my story would lack authenticity if I were to ignore the very roots that have molded me into the person I am.

Among the very early converts was one family called ‘Pakalomattom.’ The recorded history of this family mentions several other families related to them by blood and marriage. Two of them were the families ‘Anjanattu’ and ‘Pulimootil.’ There was also mention of a famous priest, Rev. Joseph Kathanar of Thumbamon-Pallivathukkal who lived in the 1700’s. His son, Varghese, settled in a village named ‘Vazhoor,’ about thirteen miles east of Kottayam town. Among his six sons, Thomas continued to live in Vazhoor under the family name ‘Anjanattu.’ Thomas had three sons - Varghese, Chacko, and Cherian. Cherian married a girl from the ‘Pulimootil’ family of Kottayam. Unfortunately, conditions being what they were in the1800’s, the young man fell ill and died leaving behind his pregnant young wife. The child born after his death was named ‘Varghese’ after his great-grandfather. He remained with his mother in her home, looked after by his maternal uncle, Pylee, who had no sons but only daughters. And thus, Varghese became very much a part of the Pulimootil family.

Varghese was sent to the English Grammar School in Kottayam. The school was founded by one of the Anglican missionaries from England who had arrived in Kerala in the 1800’s. Having mastered the English language, young Varghese worked closely with the missionaries and accompanied them as they travelled the length and breadth of Central Kerala, then known as Travancore State. During one such visit to a town called Mallappally, Varghese found his future wife, Mariam. As she also belonged to a Syrian Christian family, the marriage was looked upon with favor by all and had the blessing of the missionaries. The newly married couple settled in Kottayam and accumulated lands and buildings opposite Varghese’s maternal uncle’s properties. In fact, so much property belonged to the Pulimootil family right in the heart of the town, that the area was called Pulimood Junction, a name that is still in use, though the Pulimootil family and its scions have all departed for fresh woods and new pastures.

God blessed Varghese and Mariam with five bonny children. Their eldest child was a daughter named Esther, followed by four sturdy sons- Cherian, Varghese, Thomas, and Jacob. Under the influence of the missionaries, Varghese and his family joined the Anglican church, leaving the Syrian Christian church of their ancestors. They became members of the Holy Trinity Cathedral in Kottayam town and worshipped the Lord in that beautiful church, built by one of the first missionaries Rev. Benjamin Bailey. Upon their deaths, Varghese and Mariam were buried in the cathedral’s cemetery. From now onward, Varghese would be referred as ‘Varghese Appen,’ thus identifying him as the patriarch of the Pulimootil family of Thirunakkara, Kottayam.

Esther, the only daughter of Varghese Appen and Mariam, was given in marriage to a member of the ‘Thoppil’ family in Kottayam. Cherian, the eldest son of Varghese couple, married Mariamma, from a Syrian Christian family called Naduvathra, and moved to an estate, about thirty-five miles east of Kottayam town. This couple had nine children, of whom six (three boys and three girls) survived. The mother of these children passed away in January 1923 from complications related to the delivery of her last child. Soon after, the father died in August 1925. At the time of the father’s death, his eldest son, Pilo (my father), was only nineteen years old and was working as a supervisor-apprentice on the same estate. Miriam, the eldest sister, was a student at Maharajah’s College in the state’s capital, Trivandrum. The other four children, namely, Aleykutty, Varghese, Esther, and George were attending elementary and high schools. Their paternal uncles stepped in as guardians of the orphaned children.

But Miriam decided to give up her college studies and bring up her young siblings. They moved into one of the houses in Pulimood Junction, claiming it as part of their ancestral inheritance. The loss of parental guidance at such a young age affected all the children. Miriam took a teaching job in a nearby girls’ school. She also tutored privately to earn additional income. The other children, except for my father, continued with their studies. Before long, Aleykutty, one of the sisters, died at a very young age. She was buried at the Anglican church in Arpookkara, where Thomas, one of the guardians, lived with his family. The remaining three children were looked after by Miriam, their elder sister.

Varghese, the second son of Varghese Appen, became a building contractor, married, and raised four children - two boys and two girls. They thrived in the ancestral home in Pulimood Junction. Thomas, the third son of Varghese Appen, married and raised four children, also two boys and two girls. With his family, he settled down in the village above mentioned, which was in the western suburb of Kottayam town. He served the church as a teacher and catechist. He was also a successful farmer, with large paddy fields and coconut groves. All his children completed their college educations and his eldest son, also named Varghese, was the first graduate in Arpookkara. He also earned a second degree in law, though he never practiced as a lawyer. His love for learning was carried on by his own children; in fact, his eldest daughter became the first medical doctor in the Pulimootil family, and two others became college professors.

Jacob, the youngest son of Varghese Appen, was of a business mentality and started a motor bus service as a family enterprise. This was a new venture at a time when local people mostly used bullock carts, cycles, and canoes to travel and move goods by land and water. Buses began to operate under the name Champion Motor Service. The early returns were encouraging, but frequent breakdowns, cost of spare parts, tires, repairs, and strict rationing of gasoline in those days put heavy financial strain on the business. It was at this time of difficulty that my father and his brother took up the driver’s seat giving up all chances of other careers. Despite their sacrifices, the motor business continued to face heavy loss. Some of the town properties had to be sold, to clear up the debts. Eventually, the motor business had to be given up, and all it had given my father and his brother were licenses to drive with which they could look for work elsewhere. Jacob had to sell some of the prime properties in the town to tide them over the financial crisis. He and his family moved to Veloor, a suburb of Kottayam town. Fortunately for Jacob, he had qualified in accountancy during his studies in the early years. This helped him to secure a good job as accountant and thus support his large family of thirteen children. The education of his children was very important to him and one of his sons distinguished himself by earning a doctoral degree in chemistry. Later, he served the Rubber Board of India as a reputed scientist.

After the failure of the family’s motor service, Pilo my father, tried his hand at several businesses for the next few years but did not make good, mainly because of inexperience and inadequate resources. Perhaps he lacked either the quality of discernment or the competitive spirit of most successful entrepreneurs. Besides, his love for a lavish lifestyle proved in many ways to be his downfall. Living beyond his means became second nature to him. His uncles believed that marriage and family responsibilities would cause the young man to settle down and live within his means. And so, as in every Syrian Christian family of those days, the search was on for a suitable bride. Everyone welcomed a marriage proposal for him from a reputed Syrian Christian family named Manchayil. Annamma, the prospective bride was the second daughter of an agriculturist with paddy fields and coconut groves in Parippu, a village southwest of Kottayam. Besides, she was known to both sisters of Pilo as all of them had studied in Kottayam. In fact, though Annamma’s house was eight miles away from Kottayam, she walked to school and back, because the school in her village offered only the elementary program. She went to all this trouble just to fulfil her dream of becoming a teacher, but it was never realized.

Pilo was always one who believed in keeping up with appearances. Perhaps that was the way an adolescent had dealt with the insecurity of having been orphaned at such a young age. Perhaps it was the lack of a proper education and a good steady job that had made him thus. After so many years, it had become part of his very nature. He had always wanted to live well and in style, and his wedding should be grand! He left in a motorcar for his wedding, which was to be held in the church of his bride. In those days, there were very few cars plying on the roads. Besides, the roads in the village were barely cart tracks. In fact, the road leading to the church was so narrow that the poor bridegroom had to get out and walk! But his arrival in the car was a nine-day wonder for the villagers.

His newly acquired status as a married man did not change things as everyone had hoped. Instead, he continued much as before. Perhaps he felt a little uncomfortable at enjoying married bliss by staying in a large household. He preferred to move away to a house of his own. After the birth of his first child, Marykutty, the need for an independent dwelling had become a necessity for my father. Though he received a moderate income from renting out a building- his share of the ancestral property- to the K.P. Press, the money was not enough to support the family and take care of his personal expenses.

The ongoing World War affected the rich and poor. Prices sky-rocketed and many essential commodities were rationed by the government. The German attack on Poland led the British to declare war on Germany. Indians were recruited for military service. As mentioned before, my father joined the Indian Military as a driving instructor, leaving behind his pregnant wife and daughter. His new life far away from the family did not appeal to him at all. As soon as he received the message of my birth, his second child, he came home and decided not to return to military duty. Though he was proud of his service, he left it without qualifying for any benefits, but with increased appetite for liquor and tobacco from his short-lived military service. If he had continued with his job, his story might have been vastly different. After India became independent, many ex-soldiers were honored as war heroes by the government for their part in the nation’s struggle for freedom.

To survive those hard times, my father sold his share of the ancestral property and rented a house in the town. Thus, we became a nuclear family. But I still have vivid memories of my ancestral home where I had spent such happy days, and other places, where we lived in rented houses. One of those houses was by the bank of a river. I remember hearing the story of how I had miraculously escaped death by drowning. It appears that I had fallen into the river but for my mother’s presence of mind in quickly pulling me out of the water, I would not have been around to tell this tale. No doubt, my Heavenly Father had, and continues to have, His eyes on me and my family from the very beginning of my birth.

My younger sister, Elsiekutty, soon after her birth found it difficult to keep her eyes open. Both eyes were closed as if forever. Weeks and months passed by, but the baby could not open her eyes. The child was subjected to medical treatments of different types, but all in vain because the closed eyes would not open. The dreaded pronouncement came; she is blind! The family resorted to prayer hoping for a miracle. My maternal grandmother, Aleyamma, was a woman of great faith. She vowed that she would pray for the child at one of the holy shrines, the very famous St. Mary’s Syrian Church at Manarcadu, near Kottayam town, and offer penance and obeisance. Accompanied by her daughter, i.e., my mother with the baby girl, she attended the ‘Holy Qurbana’ (Eucharistic worship) at the church. As the service was in progress and the blessed holy sacraments were elevated with special prayers, hymns, sound of bells, rattling of ‘mabrasa’ (Maruvahsa), and lighted candles, the child who had been reposing on her mother’s shoulder, suddenly raised her head and began to look around with her eyes wide open! My mother could not believe her eyes! She had seen the miracle of healing that had just taken place! Without doubt, the child pronounced blind by many physicians had been miraculously healed.

Whenever my mother told this story, we could feel her great amazement and gratitude to the Lord for answering her desperate prayers. She knew with all her being that the child’s eyesight was nothing but the gift of the Almighty. As a token of her undying gratitude, she used to send a small offering to this church when the feast of Mother Mary is celebrated in the month of September every year till the very end. This practice is still observed by Elsiekutty, who continues to express her gratitude through prayers and special offerings, in thankful remembrance of the miraculous healing of her eyes.

One of my mother’s cousins had some properties in a village known as Mooledom, located in the southern part of Kottayam town. He advised my father to buy a property there which he fortunately accepted. He bought it with a medium sized house just in time before his financial resources depleted. The road in front of the property was unpaved, muddy, and rutted. It was so bad that only a few lorries transporting rubble from a nearby quarry dared to use it. The village had no electricity, telephone, post office or a marketplace, nothing like what we had known in the town. But there were some things we did have in Mooledom, which each of us needed: a small Anglican church where my pious mother could worship the Lord with her family, an elementary school, and a high school where the children could study, and a few little shops including sale of toddy (fermented sap of coconut palms) which my father patronized regularly. He was trying out a few small businesses, but all of them went the way of their predecessors. The last of these enterprises was a readymade cloth mart in the town.

I was about five years old when we settled into our newly acquired house in the month of November 1945. The property was not large, but it had a solid house built with granite, bricks, timber, and a tiled roof. It had its own well with plenty of water from a perennial spring. There were two coconut trees long past their prime, and a mango tree, but the rest of the land was left uncultivated. We enjoyed it because there was more than enough room for children like us to play the wildest and most energetic of games. Father had to spend some money on the house to make it more comfortable for the family. He hired a wonderful nanny to help mother take care of us, three children. Thus, Mother found time to plant different kinds of fruit trees as well as to create a kitchen garden and a bower of flowering plants. A few goats and a cow gave us all the milk we needed. Chickens of all sizes and varieties roamed everywhere. We played with Mother’s cats and Father’s dog. An old gramophone would come alive when Father was at home. The old melodies that poured forth attracted young and old in the neighborhood, who would hang over our fence to listen. They thought the whole music machine was incredible! The people of Mooledom village were nice and not so aggressive like some town folks! Several villagers belonged to the working class and lived among a few well-to-do landholders and middle-class families. Though we missed our town life with the uncles, aunts, cousins and the bustling streets with vehicles, vendors, and shops, we adjusted to our new home in Mooledom.

The small Anglican church, built on a hilltop, was the product of the hard labor of the members of the church in addition to the help from the diocese. The cornerstone of the church was laid in the 1940’s by the Rt. Rev. B.C. Corfield who succeeded Bishop E.A.L. Moore of the Central Travancore Diocese. A small elementary school and a few mission houses were part of the extensive church compound. As a matter of fact, such large properties were acquired throughout the country by the ingenuity of the Anglican missionaries, who were supported by their home missions. They brought the Word of the Lord to many places in India; Kerala being one such state. The Anglican church in Mooledom, named after Saint Paul, the Apostle, became our parish church by transfer of membership from the Holy Trinity Cathedral, Kottayam.

We liked our new church and the fellowship of the worshippers. It was indeed a lovely, little place of worship. A beautiful altar adorned the sanctuary which was separated from the nave by a wooden railing. There was a lectern for reading the Bible and a stand for the catechist. There were also a few benches in the nave for the elderly. Mats were provided for all other worshippers, especially for children and youth. The congregation was not able to warrant the services of an ordained presbyter. Instead, it was tended by a catechist appointed by the diocesan bishop. As was the usual practice, the catechist of the church also served as the headmaster of the elementary school in the precincts of the church. An ordained presbyter came to conduct the Holy Communion (Eucharistic service) on certain Sundays and feast days, and the faithful flocked to the church to attend those services.

This fledgling church had many important needs and an urgent one was to have a nice altar cross. The altar lacking a beautiful cross was a thought that greatly concerned my father. One evening when Father returned after his business enterprise in the town, he had something covered with a yellow linen cloth in his hands. He placed it on the living room table and removed the yellow linen cloth. There it stood in its shining glory - a beautiful Latin cross with the inscription IHS plated in silver and golden colors! On the base were engraved these words; Glory to God and below it ‘Presented by P. Cherian Pilo, Pulimootil, in memory of my parents, 4th June 1946.’ The altar cross was dedicated during the Sunday worship service and added to the beauty of the sanctuary. As an impressionable young lad, I grew up with a special enthusiasm for my church and I began to realize the deep-seated love of my family in serving the Lord.

The aftermath of World War II was an even greater economic depression all over the country. The rationing of basic commodities continued, including clothing materials and accessories. There were hardly any consumers in the different shops. Father’s ‘Champion Readymade’ business went the way of his ‘Champion Motor Service.’ Again, financial ruin stared him in the face. However, years of hardship had given him a little prudence. To avoid selling his newly acquired village property, he mortgaged it to his younger brother and got a certain amount of money to tide over the difficult times. Resilience and optimism were always a part of the very nature of my father which helped him to face the uncertain future with confidence.

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ELEMENTARY & SECONDARY

EDUCATION

MY FIRST STEP IN THE journey of formal education began with a traditional ceremony conducted by the catechist of our church, who was also the headmaster of the elementary school. At the invitation of my parents, he came to our house and the ceremony began. He gently guided the index finger of my right hand to draw a cross on a heap of brown rice in a brass plate, which my mother had placed in front of him. Then the revered teacher guided my hand along the whorls of the first letter in Malayalam my native tongue. At that time, I too had scabies which made it difficult for me to screw up my fingers to draw the complicated first letter of the Malayalam alphabet. I burst into tears of pain and weariness, but the master gently picked me up and pronounced the time-honored benediction. Thus, I was made ready to set out on the journey of education!

The elementary school where all three of us were sent by our parents was located just about half a mile from our house. Our classmates were from the same neighborhood and most of them were friendly though there were a few bullies too. Their favorite sport was to stamp on my white canvas shoes with their muddy feet to make them dirty. This was their way of expressing the displeasure for they did not want others to have anything they did not have. The worst thing that happened to me and my white canvas