Taatan

I never quite got his full name from anyone who knew him, though the surname was Menon. The world of Malayalees – the entire world of Malayalees, for such was his reach – knew him simply as Taatan. If you are about my age or older and had in the distant past attended a wedding (any wedding, one needs to emphasise) in Guruvayoor, you may recall seeing a man of medium height at the fringes of the commotion, in a white shirt and mundu, with a shock of white curly hair, a clean shaven face sporting a gentle smile and an umbrella in one hand and his purse in the other. Now, you might argue, this defines about 43.7 per cent of the Malayalee male population and you would be right. What set Taatan apart was his unmistakable manner of speech - a slow, careful drawl, in a soft voice that had a sing-song quality to it.  You would also not fail to notice that in the hand that held the purse was, inevitably, a copy of the Bhagvad Gita.

Once the wedding was over, Taatan, while wishing the couple, would present them with the Gita, his modest yet invaluable gift which the couple would, of course, immediately gift onward to their parents, a practice that did not, oddly enough, extend to the cash they received.  After the mandatory photograph with the couple, he would eat a hearty lunch, exchanging pleasantries with the numerous attendees. Every such person he would call by first name.  He would enquire of the health and general being of the family members or, at the drop of a hat (or a mundu, if you prefer), trace the concerned person’s distinguished or not-so-luminiscent ancestry in an ever so gentle way that enhanced the person’s esteem. And then, he would make his quiet exit, using a bus or a train to traverse the length of the State. Nobody seemed to know just where his income – a most modest one, no doubt – came from, though it was a subject of considerable interest.

To reiterate, Taatan knew everybody south of Payyanur. Let me correct that: those whom he did not know south of Payyanur must have been visiting the area or probably did not know that they were in that rare, genetically modified variety not known to the One. Most impressively, everyone wished to know him in turn as well, which was a happy coincidence. There were two reasons for his popularity, the first being his wonderfully gentle disposition and the quiet dignity with which he carried himself. The second was a bit more devious: if there was any boy or girl of marraigeable age in a family, Taatan needed to be informed. For, in that extraordinary brain, was a special place reserved for alliances.

I had the privilege of watching Taatan join a family get-together once. It was summer in Kerala and, as always, awfully hot. I must have been in my early teens then and, much to my Mother’s consternation, was turning anti-establishment, anti-Malu and anti-arranged weddings with a vengeance. Yet, it was a special treat for me to see him in action, in the airy living room in which we had all gathered, the children being there despite considerable admonishment and the silly repetition of the trite ‘now, go play’ directive by the adults because, in their august opinion,  there was a serious discussion going on. It is a directive that is always ignored, of course, for nothing thrills a child more than adult conversation.

There was much social talk and gossip and we all knew that it was leading to the Agenda. When the topic of a suitable boy for the girl in the family arose, all eyes turned in Taatan’s direction, though other pretenders to the throne had an alliance or two to suggest. Taatan began modestly, with a couple of possible names, but moved into gear with gusto, suggesting at least a dozen or so potential grooms. “Our Kotakkal Nair’s wife’s first cousin settled in Bombay has a son who is so and so” or “Sankunni Menon told me the other day about his Uncle’s co-brother’s grandson, who is in Trivandrum running a generator agency…” and so on. Taatan’s skill was in matching the many complex variables – social status, income and standard of living, family disposition, family's sense of humour (or its pronounced absence)  - though he did sometime get it wrong, as will happen when a genius is burdened with a large population.  Let it be known, even Einstein made the odd mistake (he lost money in stocks in the Great Crash of 1929.  Are you now relieved?).  

To return to the discussion, my cousin, who was training to be a expert on such matters and who had never subscribed to a policy of discretion, added many qualitative comments to Taatan’s proposals, most of them negative, such as, “Taatan, that fellow is a thendi (Malu for ‘wastrel’)” or “Do you know how this fellow got his degree?”, while Taatan smiled sagely along. None of these potential bridegrooms had the faintest idea that they were now being dissected under a rather critical lens and some must have had a mysterious round of hiccups at the time. Yet, knowing my cousin well, those present ignored his emphatic judgments, while focusing on the essentials of the variables and trusting Taatan’s judgement.

When the discussion adjoured for lunch, there were possible permutations, some cancellations and many desired combinations. After a leisurely paan, he continued to, in his inimitable way, guide the conversation, even as I went off on a secret mission to save the World, as I used to do on most days in summer. When I returned, Taatan had left, yet the family, in a figurative way, had not left him. They were discussing him in great detail and with not inconsiderable awe, with my cousin leading the charge. “I disagree with many of his alliances, but his network is without parallel,” he announced. Another young cousin, a brash fellow who was a bit older to me, had left the conclave earlier. He now re-joined it with a look of disdain. He was a fellow whose manners had never been corrected enough (in his later years, the absence of etiquette has become an affliction. Perhaps, child is the father of man after all). “All this praise of Taatan drives me up the wall,” he announced, “if he is so good at making marraiges happen, why did he not get married?”

In that raucous assembly of a family get-together, there was a moment of silence, for no one really knew the answer.

One has been reading of Kerala’s skewed population ratio – many more women than men- and its declining number of marraiges. Right thinking people know that the root cause of this is that Taatan is no more.
The others are mere economists.