I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

Evening of April 1945. The sun was setting in the horizon, darkness was just setting in, and the last rays bounced off paddy fields and tiled roof tops. With a blanket over their face and enough masquerades to conceal their identity, they move stealthily towards the thatched hut by the river side. They wait at a safe distance from the hut, safe enough to go unnoticed.
Their intension: Errant and uncanny, never to be revealed to world.
Anticipated result: Intoxication.
They were to taste "kallu", from the local toddy shop by the river.

Only the jingle of bangles or cling of anklets would reveal their feminine identity but all that was taken care of. Sarala and Marraikutty had a long lasting desire to taste the divine nectar every mallayalie devours; the local toddy from coconut, known as “kallu”. But orthodox Christian family and strict domicile rules did not let the two young women even choose their own under garments, forget tasting “kallu”.

“Desire over demure“, they plotted their own way to get to “kallu”.
Two extra eggs and an extra serving of rice to the bullock cart driver was enough to pamper and persuade him to arrange their invigorating stint with “kallu”.
They were to be by the river at 7 pm and there, “somebody” was to supply them with a pot of fresh “kallu”.
As decided they reached the river side on time and there was “somebody” waiting for them with one pot of fresh “kallu”.

Gulping down the nectar with no exchange of words, Sarala did not notice the breach in her camouflage. Her head gear has slipped down and was exposing her beautiful young face. Her bangles clinked like the church bells; she was EXPOSED, and she did not care. She could not help but notice the big scar on the felt hand of that “somebody” who smuggled the “kallu” for them. It was hideous but in some way the scar was endearing. Anyways, gulping down the “kallu” with vigor, Sarala and Marriakutty left for home, satisfied and slightly inebriated.

****End of part one****

Fast forward 2 years.

Sunken eyes and drooling face, the look of a plausible bride?
No, this is what Sarala looked like on the morning of 25th Aug 1947. 2 years after the covert operation turned triumphant.

This was the day when “Karaaikudi Dizoza” family was supposed to have a thorough inspection of her;
oh or rather the only son of Mr and Mrs. Dizoza, Mr. Karaaikudi Kochapi was supposed to see his probable bride.
Sarala was awake all night excited and fretful about the deciding morning; wondering if Mr. Kochapi would look as smart as he did in the black and white Polaroid.

The day since Mathukutty Chettan, the obliging broker brought the alliance to “Kuriakose” family; every body was in a state of panic. If the auspicious event had to happen, it was to happen in a span of 2 months as Mr.Kochapi had to return to the Gulf. He was working at an oil rig in the Persia and his bio data contained all wanted details of his authenticity as a resident of the gulf.

“you knoooww……There were 5 BIG bags when he came this time”, ahhhh….

“you knoowww……. He got 25 perfume bottles and 6 watches this time; all GOLD”ahhh…

“you knowww…..He wears 42 inch bell bottoms..!!!!” ahhh….

“Aiyo, how can he afford all that cloth??!!!”

"you knoooww... He smokes only cigarettes and no bidies.." ahh.

“You see he’s a Gulf returnee…ahhhhhhh”

2 months is too short a notice for any typical mallu Christian family to put together a 'descent' marriage. From deciding on dowry to the number of chickens to be slaughtered it takes around 3 months, all this minus the delay with rumors and rain; of course the time wasted in lifting, folding and tying lungies.

Still Dizoza and Kuriakose decide on going ahead with the marriage anyway.

Honk of the 1912 Ford Impala gave shivers down Sarala’s spine. They were here.
Every thing was set for the inspection to start; from fresh coat of paint to cob free corners, from clean nails to colored lips, from new clothes to clean floors. The stage was set to venerate the team.

Sarala did her part very well. All the training provided by her mother was working just fine. She walks with grace and bowed head towards her future husband and his family. Never looking up and not wrinkling her fresh starched sari, balancing her piping hot tea tray, she flaunts her grace.
And then suddenly Mr. Kochapi blurts the unthinkable.

“Can I have a moment in private with Sarala?” [tadaaan….]

Among hush hush, turned heads and inquisitive looks the elders allow them 2 minutes in private. The probable bride and groom are shifted to another room with better ventilation.

Sarala was melting with shame, every hair on her skin was raised, that brush against her own skin and that hurt. Her knees were shaking and almost made the tap-tap noise.
Mr. Kochapi leans forward and whispered “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER”.
That’s when Sarala noticed the divergent big SCAR on Mr.Kachapi’s left arm.

[tadaaaannn……]

To be cont………

****End of part two****

Will he still marry her?
Will he tell Mr. Kuriakose abt his daughter’s sordid deed?
Will Sarala survive the scare?

Wait a while for the nail biting, nerve wracking, balls scratching, dandruff free, mamamiya my neighboring cubical has a babe, ENDING of this nail biting, nerve wracking, balls scratching, dandruff free, mamamiya my neighboring cubical has a babe STORY.

I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER. [tadaaan….]