# Ajayan
When the social connect of some political leaders now often appears confined to public meetings and other events of paraphernalia, the exemplary connection with the masses and the avoidance of extravagance by communist leaders of yesteryears is highlighted through three incidents in the lives of three former Communist Chief Ministers, bringing out a stark contrast. Regrettably, these stalwarts are no longer with us, leaving lingering questions about whether such simplicity has endured beyond their era.
The account I share is based on the recollections of those who were direct witnesses to the arrival of former Chief Minister EMS Namboodiripad in my native village during the early 1960s when I was merely two or three years old. Krishna Warrier, EMS' official driver during his tenure as Kerala's first Chief Minister, had passed away. He had married a woman from the family of the renowned poet and scholar NV Krishna Warrier.
EMS is said to have traveled by bus from Thrissur to Urakam and then walked approximately 2 km to reach the warriom. A small crowd gathered there were surprised by the presence of the former CM. EMS paid his respects to the departed and offered condolences to the grieving family members. He said that since he would be travelling frequently as part of party activities and would not be there in Thrissur, the family members could contact the party district office for any assistance. He added that he would speak to the party secretary, who would extend help to them. When he prepared to leave, some in the crowd offered a ride, but EMS declined, expressing his familiarity with the area from his underground (UG) days. He even shared a few words about KK Maash from nearby. Interestingly, KK Maash's son is the renowned Malayalam writer Ashtamoorthi. EMS trekked back to Urakam and journeyed back to Thrissur. Whether the family members ever sought help from the party office remains unknown
Thekkinkad Maidanam in the heart of Thrissur town comes alive with the spirited engagement of card players during the evenings. In this recreational activity, eight to twelve participants immerse themselves in the game, surrounded by a small crowd eagerly observing the proceedings. Unlike the game of 56, which shares similarities with Bridge and is played with two decks, Thrissur boasts a distinct peculiarity - it indulges in a tougher version known as 112, played with four decks. Each player, based on the cards in their possession, declares the trumps, and this dynamic continues until the final play unfolds.
During the course of a game one evening, a player places a card on the newspaper spread on the ground. Suddenly, a resounding "shoo" emanates from an onlooker, catching the attention of the players. It becomes evident that the player had inadvertently played the wrong card. Intrigued, I turn to identify the source of the interruption, only to discover that it is none other than the former Chief Minister, C Achutha Menon. He had paused during his routine evening walk to observe the game. In a display of camaraderie, one of the players extends an invitation to the comrade to join, an offer he politely declines. Nonetheless, he lingers for a while, observing the game before continuing on his way.
Years ago, during my student days at Aluva UC College, I was on a crowded Parur-bound bus from Aluva to college. Balancing on the footboard, I witnessed a passenger, a senior citizen clutching a file, hastily disembarking from a fast passenger bus from Perumbavoor. He vociferously proclaimed that there was another passenger for the Parur bus. Recognizing him, I made way and instructed a fellow student seated near the door to offer a seat to this gentleman. I had to intervene with the bus conductor to ensure that the man, whom even the conductor didn't recognize at first, none other than PK Vasudevan Nair, received a seat.
Remarkably, it was hardly a week ago that he held the position of Chief Minister of Kerala and had resigned as part of his party's strategic political decision to align with the LDF. In a display of humility, he, too, declined the offer for a seat and chose to travel on the footboard—an action then not taken as a serious offence.
During the hardly 15-minute journey, he shared that the majority of passengers were students who would disembark near the college, of which he was an alumnus. Curious, I inquired about his destination, and he revealed that he was headed to Parur to deliver an important case file to his comrade Sivan Pillai, another MLA. After spending some time there, he would board a bus to Aluva, then another to Perumbavoor, followed by one to Muvattupuzha. Enroute, he would alight at Pulluvazhi and walk home for lunch. Flashing his card from his pocket, he added that travelling by a KSRTC bus gave him the advantage of a luxury - free travel.
As the bus reached the College stop, he gracefully stepped down, allowing the students to disembark. I discreetly moved a bit away, observing this former Chief Minister as he stood aside, gazing at his alma mater. I still ponder as to what thoughts must have traversed his mind, reflecting on the memories of his youthful days.
