++The cosmopolitan++

It is my sincere aspiration to be a cosmopolitan. Not because I am having a multi ethnic background but again, there is no fun to carry a tag. Don’t get me wrong! I am not trying to deliver gospel on universal brotherhood and secularism. Just that this blog has got something to do with community. Overnight, I have got the additional responsibility to wear the garb of the savior of “Malayalis”.

Just to flex my muscles and burn a few calories and to save a few pennies, I have taken up the protracted task of cleaning my cars. An old Bajaj Classic impinged into the parking space allotted to me. This would have infuriated me but again, I am a bit sentimental about Bajaj Classic. Dad used to take me places in the same vehicle. KL-01 registration brought smile on my face.

In a while, two gentlemen came near the scooter and started admiring the same. One of them looked at my car and told the other one in a mellowed tone “MH 12 registration. Local guy! If he is trying to create an issue regarding parking, just raise your tone. These guys are docile”

He told this in vernacular assuming that I am from the neighboring planet. Fine, let me be an alien for a while. It is going to be fun. I continued cleaning the car with a straight face. The other one (supposedly the owner of the scooter) was sounding quite confident “Yes. I don’t care for these guys. If they are trying to be smart, I am going to make him feel the taste of life”

I was almost tempted to address his forefathers with all good words. But again, I have decided to remain tight lipped for a while. In a few minutes time, one gentleman left. The other one started cleaning his scooter as if he is performing a religious ceremony. He caressed the scooter as if he is handling a delicate darling for the first time. Afterwards he sprinkled some water and I was wondering whether he is going to chant some Vedic hymns

In a while, another friend of mine joined me and offered helping hand. In a while, the other gentleman almost performed a miniature surgery of his scooter. He removed the panels and started cleaning the internal organs of the scooter with a surgeon’s precision. He was wearing a dark yellow T Shirt and multi coloured Lungi. At times, he used to wipe oil and grease with his Lungi.

What happened next was something which I may not forget in this life time. All weak hearted friends, puritans and children may opt to leave this space. Consider this as spoiler alert.


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I have dared to ask him “Sir, what is your name?”
He stared at me as if Lord Shiva opened his third eye.
“Why? You want to raise a complaint that I have encroached into your parking space? I am Thankappan. Flat number 102”

I could see my friend trying to control his laughter. I was about to answer but Thangappan performed a magnanimous ritual. He started the scooter and all the internal organs of the vehicle started vibrating. In a moment’s time, Thangappan’s Lungi was pulled inside the scooter by a rotating organ of the scooter. He tried to pull it back but the cloth got enmeshed inside the scooter in a terrible manner which left his efforts in vain.

Suddenly my friend whispered in my ears “God, he is not wearing under garment”

Perhaps, Thankappan himself realized this fact at this moment and he tried to pull his T-shirt down to cover his modesty. I was scared to death with this sight and was almost frozen to death.

Thankappan started speaking in Vernacular “Is there any short cut to reach first floor?”
I have read somewhere that during the last moments of life, people will speak in their mother tongue. This time, I became a bit sympathetic at him and responded in his mother tongue “Just turn left, there is a service lift. Normally not used by people. You can reach first floor. Or, rest inside my car. I will get you something to wear”

To my surprise, he ran toward the service lift. In a moment’s time we heard two ladies screaming. We thought of following him and saw two ladies covering their face with palms and hugging each other. Seems, Thankappan incarnated in front of them in the most transparent form.

Thankappan himself got frightened and started climbing the steps. We could see him reaching first floor and getting inside a flat. Goodness heaven, door of his flat was open and hence he did not have to spend time waiting after pressing calling bell.

Again we heard some earth shattering noises from the flat. Thankappan came outside the flat and started knocking the door of the adjacent flat. He barged into a wrong flat. He waited for three minutes and was greeted by his wife. He addressed her with all the swear words in the vernacular for the delay. A few of those swear words enriched my vocabulary.


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After effects –
Thankappan is rechristened as “Nangappan”
All the residents in my society believe that those who belong to my community do not believe in the concept of under garments.
Someone placed him with a request "If you plan this show in near future, please give us advance intimation so that, women and kids can be rehabilitated somewhere"

An old uncle from my home town told me “Son, you have to prove them that Thangappan is an odd man out. All of us wear under garments. You are an influential person. You should not let our community down”

Fine – but how can I prove to the rest of the world that we believe in under garments? Should I organize a "Community Lingerie Exhibition" or something like that?

Well, it is safer to be a cosmopolitan!