The Ballad of a Truck Driver

The Father of all Battles

The story we heard from my mother … was that he was in love with this gal … but his parents would not give their permission … for him to marry her. They were farmers … with a piece of land in Northern Kerala in India. He got pissed with them … and when his father sent him with a load of pepper to the wholesaler … he pocketed the sales proceeds … sold the bullock-cart … and caught the steamer to Malaysia. That's how my father came to be here.

 

The year was 1920. He was 30 years of age. Kuala Lumpur was a major tin mining settlement … and the Brits were managing the administration of the country. He sought to connect with opportunities. Brit investments in the country were growing … especially in rubber plantations … and they brought in indentured convicts from India … to work the plantations. He must have talked his way into getting hired as a supervisor … in one of the plantations … and moved to his working place … in the hinterland … near the town of Jerantut.

 

He met my mother there. She worked as a weeder.  The chemistry must have been just right … perhaps she helped mend his broken heart. But he was Malayalee and she Telegu … from Andhra Pradesh. Her parents wouldn't give permission and she was married to another man … who was Telegu. Two years later … she had a daughter … but they couldn't forget their feelings for each other.  They were an odd couple … he was tall … she was only about 5ft. in height. He was forty years of age … and she eighteen.  They had decided to die together … one day by lying down on the railroad tracks … waiting for the evening train. It was late.

 

So they eloped … and got married in an Indian temple … in the eyes of God and the priest. They then moved to another town … where he set up a grocery store. My oldest brother and sister … were born there. Business must have been good … because he was contacted by the local communist guerrillas … fighting the Brit rule … who needed cash and provisions. The leader of the group was a man from Kerala.

 

My father had found that objectionable. He had formed a certain loyalty to the Brits who had given him an opportunity for a job. So they packed up quietly during the night … and took the bus to Kuala Lumpur and then Malacca … where he found a job at the Brit Garrison stationed at Terendek Camp. He was hired as a civilian truck driver. I was born in Kuala Lumpur … and was two years of age … when the family moved to Malacca.

 

It must have been my parents' background … the way the children in the family … grew up somewhat isolated from any reference to relatives. But the schism must have run deeper … for my father encouraged us to speak English that we picked up from school … and made no attempt to make familiar to us … the Malayalee or Tamil language. He spoke English quite well … and I think he viewed it as an opportunity to break with past Indic traditions.

 

We would occasionally make a trip to town … all nine of us … to watch a Tamil movie. But I don't recall having visited the temple … or an Indic wedding … with him. We were the only family to him … and it created an edge in family relations … that was discernible … with regards to affection … discipline and obedience. He was closest to the young ones … and I enjoyed a special affection with him … before my younger brothers were born.

 

He told wonderful stories … especially about Krishna … before bedtime and required us to sing a devotional song at the Krishna altar … in the house … every evening at 7.00 pm. His admiration for Krishna … seemed to rest on the image of the superman … who excelled at what he did. And I think there was a hint about … how Krishna is the one you can trust. He reminded us that if we were ever in danger … to simply call out to Krishna. My father's name … Krishnan … was named in devotion to the great one.

 

I was erratic in my studies … in primary school … and found myself drifting off … into dreams … in class. I couldn't form any close friendships … for I found in some way … that my loyalty to him … and the family … was the most important criteria in my life. It had turned my childhood … into an experience of managing father … understanding the nuances of his moods … responding strategically to what works … and improvising wherever possible. But to stay with it.

 

My grades were average … with poor performances … in Maths and science subjects. He always advised me to pull up my socks … but was not more insistent than that. On other occasions … when we transgressed a rule … his anger was swift … like an arrow released from a bow. He'll grab the cane … and let us have it … without another word. He passed on when I was twelve years of age. I had gone to visit him … at the hospital with my mother. He was incoherent … and called me by my brother's name … said his mother had appeared to him in a dream.

 

After he passed on … I crashed in some way … without any more knowing … my role … my anxieties … my security … and the way I was managing the issues. There was no longer a central pillar … to the issues I was dealing with. I tried to improvise (*1)… but failed … and about seven years later … had my experience of the fall … when my mind went blank. He had always said that … he did his duty by us … by  making sure we received an education. It certainly has been a learning … in many ways.

 

 

 

 

*1 …  See ' English Literature & Reincarnation '