Vasu Pillai and the Mark 1

Vasu Pillai was an important member of the neighbourhood, by neighbourhood I mean around 25 houses in a two kilometre radius. He was the only car driver near my grand dad’s house, he drove a white Ambassador Mark 1. And since my mother has eight siblings many of whom lived or worked outside Kerala, his services were called for regularly to pick them up from airports or railway stations. These were in addition to the engagements, weddings, baptisms and pilgrimages. And not to forget the emergency trips to the J Memorial Hospital when Velliyapachen convinced everyone that he was having a heart attack, only for the doctor to diagnose it was only ‘gyaas’. 

We kids had to call him Vasupillachettan, drop Pillai and you are not giving respect, drop Vasu and you are still irreverent. He was a hero for us, and we would vye with each other to boast about trips with him. ‘The last time we went to Parumala, Vasupillachettan over took five lorries at one stretch’ or ‘That’s nothing, what about the time we missed our train at Chengannur and Vasupillachettan overtook the train and we boarded it in Tiruvalla’. We would ask him how to put the car in ‘neuter’ gear and beam about the fact that we knew about cars.

Vasupillachettan was like family, he knew about everything that happened in the family all picked from conversations during the journeys. He knew about impending weddings, vacation dates, jobs applied for and even about the disagreements in the family. He was the silent listener offering advice only when he was sure he needed to. It was quite comforting to be in his car, the upholstery was soft deep tan velvet which had feline markings on it. I can recall the smell of incense sticks stuck into the sides of the steel framed picture of Krishna on the dashboard.

He did visit us in Bangalore once for my uncle’s wedding. He insisted that he would wear only a mundu and it was quite intriguing for our neighbours. Cedric asked me, ‘What bugger, hu is that funny person in your ‘ouse. What does he wear under that?’ And like most visitors from Kerala, Vasupillachettan saw amusement in ordinary things of the city. He constantly asked questions like the price of vegetables, or coconut in Bangalore. And he would raise his eyes and say, ‘Back home it all goes to waste, nobody cares. Only in the city do we know the real value of Kerala.’ He would look intently at the cars on the road and ask me the cost of the old Plymouth that Uncle B down the road drove. He also would look at the young women on the roads and pass comments to my uncles who were of his age. I was too young to understand what he meant when he said, ‘Nalla charakk’, later I came to know charakk meant goods and a slang for good looking women. (Of course the slangs have changed in Kerala, it was ‘colours’ before the current one in circulation, which is ‘piece’.) 

Vasupillachettan sold his house and moved to another part of the district. I sometimes wonder how he is doing.