My Poems-3: "Dindigul" (From Suri's Autobio)

The name brings to memory
A fort on a hillock;
As a boy climbed it
several times.
This is where
dad was working,
when I was born.

His diary records
the momentous event:
"A Red Letter Day :
Telegram from ANY
informing birth of my son".
What Red-letter day?
My son snorts now!

My mom and me,
as a babe,
were taken to
my paternal uncle's house -
"40, Society Street".

Travelling by train
from mom's place,
changing trains in between,
commences my association
with Railways
which continues.
They are live-characters
in my life-drama.
All that
we will see later.

During my uncle's time,
40, Society Street
was a jolly-good place,
for a lot of children -
my cousins, me and
all the kids nearby.
That house is
associated with
many many events
of my life -
some memorable and
some better forgotten.

I was named after
this uncle -
"SIVASURIYANARAYANAN" .
'Reminds me of a
goods train' -
a friend commented
on my name.
Yes, what a long name!
But I can't blame
my uncle.
He inherited it
from his grandpa
and dad chose it for me,
for uncle was more
a father to him.
(Dad lost his father
when he was 8.)
Hope, my son
will be more
imaginative and
comes up
with something better
for his son,
when he is born.

But I am
either
"Suri" or "Murugan"
to all near and dear.
The longer version
is for records only.
Murugan?
Oh, petname mother
chose for me.
Still many from
mother's side
know me as 'Murugan'.

Later my siblings
took to calling me,
'Mulla' -
a corrupt form of Muruga
or maybe after
Mulla Nazruddeen,
whose jokes
I used to crack often.

My namesake uncle was
Town Congress leader,
popular and soft-spoken gent,
respected and trusted by many.
A Municipal Councillor,
till his tragic death,
his ward,
Ward No.4 to be precise,
came to be known as
"Congress Fortress".

Cut at the prime of life,
he fell like a
huge banyan tree,
leaving many branches
to dry and wither away.

Uncle gone,
40 society street gone,
all the glories gone, -
his children,
that is,
those that are left,
despair there,
facing calamity
after calamity.


On uncle's death,
burden fell on Sethu -
my cousin and the
eldest son of uncle,
when he was hardly 20.
Crushed almost,
he still lives there.

Now, 40 years after,
Dindigul is
just another name,
with fragrant and painful
memories.

Avoid unpleasantness,
well, that is me.
Pressed down as I am
with worries and problems,
Relatives and friends mean solace to me;
When they turn unpleasant,
I hide my face and
run away.
Weakness of character?
Self-centredness?
I rue this flaw of character,
but what to do?