A DOT ON MEMORY MAP -- RAVINDRANATH

Guntur is a nearby town larger and more attractive than either Bapatla or Ch pet. We used to yearn to see this town as children. Here the memory of our small grandfather, brother of our real grand father is vivid. He was a famous poet of Telugu with a pseudonym ‘Karunasri’. His personality, speech and poetry were quite mesmerizing. I used to spend a part of my summer in his house. There I read back issues of Chandamama of nearly two decades. These magazines were bound nicely . The serials enchanted us and transported into a new world. The poet used to think and write in the dead of the night when every one else was asleep. He was of very kind and amiable temperament. The mango trees in his beautiful house were additional attraction. The dabha was superb. The buildings linedup neatly on both sides of the street and provided great shade and relief from the scorching sun during the summer. His presence enriched our perception of things and his soft nature was soothing to our childish minds. Once he spoke of how Chalam regretted and criticized the eating of grass by the cow and we didn’t know then that he was referring to Musings of Chalam. He showed the utmost understanding and silence when he later sensed my anger against the system. On my part, I read his poetry in parts but his stories for children in full. I read Shakespeare’s stories and stories from our epics and even the story of Jesus in his sweet language and behaved that he could be approached any time when I needed him . I didn’t realize my inexcusable folly till I learnt about his sudden demise when I was in M phil in Hyderabad. The latent seeds of my future interest in literature had been sown in the compassionate ambience of his home and physical presence. His poems such as Dhanurbhangam, Paki pilla, Buddha Daya, Kunti Kumari were prescribed at school level and gave a taste of literature to students of my generation. Decades rolled on but memories remain. Once when he visited our village, all my classmates came to my house to see him and I enjoyed the vicarious glory long afterwards. Once he was felicitated in my native village, he was so excited and so elated that it was very much visible on his face. Kolla Venkaiah, a veteran leftist also spoke on that occasion. Though I was a bit surprised , I understood it as a sign of cordiality between those two who had been dedicated to literature and politics for the people respectively.