Rocketing through the Skies – Free Read | Chapter 1: Evergreen Memories

After seeing off the dignitaries after the landing, as I returned from the industrial centres of Peenya, I found myself in a daze, with several scenes of the past passing through my mind. India had undeniably made another giant stride in space technology. But I knew there was still a long way to go and many more missions to accomplish—going to Mars, sending humans to space and so on—to fulfil great hopes of the Indian people and the dreams of our founding father Dr Vikram Sarabhai.
Watching the moon rise through the car window, my thoughts wandered back in time, to 60 years earlier. The sight of the Moon looking like a big, orange-tinted ball ascending over the hills at Mukaliyadimala at the southernmost part of Western Ghats in erstwhile Travancore, where I had spent my infancy and childhood, came vividly to mind. How many nights had I sat entranced on the stone steps of Erathuveedu (my ancestral property) in Thirunandikkara, looking at the full moon! I wondered whether those moonbeams had first enticed me into the wonders of the sky and into dreams about the universe. I could feel myself as the child Madhavankutty, who used to walk across the wide paddy fields near the ancient temple of Nandeeswara, clutching the fingers of his dear grandfather—his role model in life.

SOME PERSONAL HISTORY

My grandfather M.K. Kesava Pillai was among the respected elders in the village of Thirunandikkara. A contractor for road construction works in the old Travancore state, he was called ‘road-mestry’ by everyone—a noble soul, always clad in a white dhoti and shirt, with a long shawl thrown around his neck. He was a decisive man of action, with a lot of compassion for the people around. My mother was born to my grandparents after many still-births. She was named Sarojam but was called by her pet name ‘Baby’. Born after so much anticipation, no doubt Baby became the darling of the whole family. She was fair, a little plump and beautiful.
My father R. Gopalan Nair belonged to Neyyattinkara, which is now part of Thiruvananthapuram (earlier Trivandrum) District of Kerala. His father—my grandfather Balakrishnan Nair—was a parvathyar (village officer) in the Travancore revenue department. In spite of being a good student, my father could not afford college. Instead, he took a diploma in civil engineering and joined the Public Works Department (PWD). It was while he was working as the supervisor of Pechiparai Dam site, which is in Kanyakumari District today, that he married Sarojam of the Erathu family. In those days, as soon as a girl reached puberty, marriage proposals would start flowing in. Grandfather and others liked the handsome young engineer from Neyyattinkara who hailed from a good family. The young couple also liked each other, and the marriage was solemnized. My mother was only about 12 years old.
After the marriage ceremony, acting against the matrilineal custom of those days, my father took his young bride to live in his own house. He must have been influenced by his modern, English-based education and familiarity with the family life of British officers. His parents seemed to have wanted that too. However, it was a source of great anguish for my maternal grandfather, grandmother and other relatives. Usually, such a revolutionary act can lead to quarrels and create distance between the families. But the mature reaction of my grandfather prevented such things from happening. He must have realized that ultimately, it would be his daughter who would be affected by any rift between the two families. Hence, my childhood came to be divided between two places, which today are in two different but adjoining states—Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
My mother started living at her husband’s family house at Neyyattinkara. My father could come home only during weekends, staying at the government quarters near the dam on weekdays. Since there were no good roads or fast vehicles, it was not practical to commute the distance of 40 km between Perunchani and Neyyattinkara daily. I wonder if my mother felt lonely, being separated from her husband at such a young age. Her own relatives could visit only infrequently.
When my mother was seven months pregnant, my maternal grandparents arrived in Neyyattinkara, with other relatives, to take their daughter home. As per the custom, they presented her with gifts, including seven types of sweets and savouries, at an auspicious time. Once the ceremony was over and it was time to leave, it became clear that my father’s parents did not want to send their daughter-in-law to her paternal home for her delivery. My paternal grandmother was very much worried about the availability of medical facilities in the remote village in case anything untoward happened during the childbirth.
Two more months passed, and my mother gave birth to me on 31 October 1943. I have heard my maternal grandmother remark often that the newborn was also fair like his mother. As promised, the mother and child were brought to Thirunandikkara, making everybody there extremely joyful.
I was the first grandchild born at Erathuveedu, my ancestral property. As may be expected, I was showered with boundless affection from my grandparents and the many servants present in the household.
As per the custom, my grandfather approached his astrologer to draw up my horoscope. However, the astrologer refused and said mercilessly, ‘The casting of the horoscope can wait. Let the child reach the age of four. By that time, only one—either the mother or the child—is going to survive.’ Grandfather returned home in deep anguish but kept the prediction a secret.
Months passed, and my mother became pregnant again. My little sister Ratnamma was born when I was one-and-a-half years old. She was born at Thirunandikkara as my mother had not yet gone back to Neyyattinkara after my birth. Following that second delivery, my mother’s health began to decline. She was only 15 years old at that time. This was not at all unusual in those days of early marriage for girls. In spite of expert treatment, her health did not improve. As she became pregnant again, her health worsened. She was admitted to a hospital in Thycaud, Thiruvananthapuram, for her third delivery.
My mother may have had a premonition of death. She called my father to her side and told him about a wish, perhaps her last wish—in case she died, he must marry her sister Santha. She did not want her children to grow up with any unknown woman.
After a few days, my mother delivered a baby boy and breathed her last. Her funeral rites were performed as per the custom. On the third day, my little brother also passed away.
I was three years old and my sister Ratnamma was one-and-a-half. The responsibility of taking care of us naturally fell on my maternal grandparents. Thankfully, they were well-off and had many servants in the house. There were no children of my age there except my youngest uncle.
Thus, my grandmother effectively became my mother. We began calling her ‘amma’, emulating my uncles. But the loss of my mother always remained a raw pain inside me, as it still is. It seems that in the early days, I used to wander around the house searching for ‘the other mother’. But the love of my grandparents must have brought down my grief to a large extent. My sister was too little to have felt the loss.
My father was still living in his official quarters at Cheruppalur. He would come every evening to spend some time with us and go back after tea. That we were living happily with our grandparents must have brought some relief to his own sorrow at the loss of his wife.

A LAND OF TEMPLES AND PADDY

As stated earlier, Thirunandikkara was in erstwhile Travancore, one of the four taluks in the district of Kanyakumari. The district was handed over to Tamil Nadu during the reorganization of states in independent India. What Kerala forfeited was a place of great historical significance, natural beauty, rivers and fertile lands. Vast green paddy fields, plantain groves and flower gardens decorated the countryside. Ancient temples like that of Adi Kesava as well as children would go to the old Nandeeswara Temple nearby. After this morning visit, we would mostly be inside the house, sometimes going to the farms around the compound. The two-storeyed house was modelled after a British bungalow. A spacious drawing room on the ground floor was flanked by some more rooms and a kitchen. The ceiling had wide wooden planks connected to a large beam made from a single piece of wood nearly 20 m long. No concrete or cement was used in the construction. There was a large hall on the first floor. In spite of being very old, all these structures still exist. The current owner of the house is Shylaja Raveendran, my sister Ratnamma’s eldest daughter. Indeed, with some modernization, the house has now become very convenient for all the relatives to spend time together.
The house faces the east, and a number of long stone steps are in the front. During my childhood, I used to sit on those steps and daydream about the big things in life. Beyond the house, one could see vast tree-lined yards and paddy fields spreading to the foot of the Mukaliyadimala Hill, which looks like a huge natural Shiva linga. On full moon nights, the Moon would rise from behind the hill. Watching it could have inspired me to embark upon my journey to space.
During the day, one could see huge abstract pictures made by light and shadow on the main rock at the peak of the hill. My grandmother had many enthralling stories to tell about them. One story was about a leopard and a hunter, who had strayed near the rock and were frozen onto it. The stories enticed me to stretch my imagination and daydream. At the same time, a deep curiosity developed in me to enquire further into the mysteries of celestial bodies. I consider it a divine grace that, much later, I had the opportunity to lead the Indian space programme at a time when the nation put its first signature on the Moon’s surface by placing a flag there.
Today, those green paddy fields have been swallowed up by the ubiquitous rubber plantations. So much damage is caused to the environment because of human greed!
A small stream flowed in front of the house. I would lose track of time while looking at the little fishes swimming in it against the flow of water. During many times in my life when I had to swim against the flow and succeed, I could not help but remember those fishes. There was a rather big pond in the yard on the side of the house where I learnt how to swim. It used to be full of lotuses and water lilies. Lotus flowers bloom from seeds that are very tasty. As time passed, the pond became filled with soil. The beautiful ambal plants slid into oblivion and got replaced with the kaitha (screw pine) seen there today.
My grandfather owned many paddy fields adjoining the house. My greatest pleasure was walking on the small embankments along the paddy fields, holding onto his fingers. I would then ask him hundreds of doubts that would be haunting my little mind. Grandfather never showed even the slightest impatience while answering me. The images of those walks, with me sometimes touching the flowers alongside the fields or chasing after dragonflies, are still etched in my mind. The local people we met on our path would invariably show great respect to my grandfather. Seeing that, my own regard for him increased manifold. Gradually, he became enshrined in my mind as my role model with his cool, action-oriented and strong personality imbued with compassion for the needy.
Observing my curiosity, my grandfather would tell my grandmother, ‘Narayani, this boy will become world famous when he grows up!’ Everyone believed him, as grandfather had some knowledge of astrology. I think he loved me more than any of his own children. Perhaps he gave me special treatment because I was a motherless child. I could be quite stubborn, but he used to accede to all my demands.
My grandmother maintained a beautiful rose garden in front of the house. The fragrance was really pleasant. My own interest in gardening must have sprung from those childhood memories. During these years of my retired life, the memory of that garden still motivates me to grow plants and trees around and on the terrace of my house in Sasthamangalam, Thiruvananthapuram.
Our neighbourhood was full of thatched huts of the Dalits who were workers in the paddy fields. In those days, caste supremacy was held precious by the Nairs and other upper castes. We were not permitted to play with the children of the workers, even though we knew all of them, just because they were considered untouchable. Neither the national movement nor the reformation movements of different communities had made inroads into our village yet. The elders did not dare defy the prevalent customs. We children knew nothing other than the rules prescribed to us by the elders. Today, when I look back, I realize the many beautiful facets of life that we missed during our childhood due to such evil customs.
Our main entertainment was our grandmother’s retelling of ancient myths. She was not very busy as she had servants to take care of household work. We could sit forever listening to her narrating the saga of Shri Rama and Shri Krishna with great piety. I understand now that the intention of those stories was to instil devotion to God and righteous conscience in us children. We became staunch admirers of Shri Rama and Shri Krishna. Pride in the great Indian culture also grew in me. Belief in an almighty God who leads one forward during hardships became deeply rooted in me. It continues to give me strength, even in the face of all the challenges that I have had to confront later in my life.
Many people have asked me how I am able to maintain a child-like devotion while working in the higher echelons of science and technology. But science and spirituality are two sides of the same coin, namely, the search for the ultimate truth. However much excellence one achieves in the realm of science and technology, one finds some things in this boundless universe that are beyond human understanding and control. How do all the seemingly chaotic universal phenomena follow systematic rules? Who or what is responsible for the origin of the universe and for defining the universal laws? Is it God? Even Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking ultimately came to such a conclusion about God. People working in the high-tech areas of space research find this easy to understand. Dr Kalam was my guide in this matter as well. A great mind, he remained a true proponent of technology while being a strong believer of Indian culture and was deeply absorbed in the spirituality of Islam. I strongly pursue Hindu philosophy.
There was no electricity in our village back then. We depended on traditional oil lamps for lighting. Those were the days of the Second World War, and there was scarcity of rice, oil, etc., in the country. But the War did not affect us much, since our lives were based almost entirely on local village produce. I recall that during the harvest season, agents of the British Raj used to come to the village and take away a major chunk of the produce at throwaway prices.
Grandfather’s birthday was the biggest event of the year at Erathuveedu. It falls on the day of Chathayam in the month of Medam (April/May) as per the Malayalam calendar. We children used to eagerly wait for that day. The preparations would commence at least a week before. Many of my grandfather’s favourite fruits—plantains, pomegranates, mangoes, jackfruits, sapota (chiku)—would be ripened and made ready. Along with the rice and vegetables for the sadya—a traditional feast served on plantain leaves with rice and a variety of vegetarian dishes—spinach, cucumber, ash gourd, long beans and bitter gourd were grown in plenty around the house.
On the big day, special pujas would be conducted at Kumara Kovil, a temple at the foot of Veli Hills, a little beyond the palace in Padmanabhapuram. We would travel to Kumara Kovil in villuvandi, carts drawn by oxen. In those times, carts drawn by oxen and horses were a luxury, equivalent to the Audi or Benz cars of today.
We would begin our festive trip at night, immediately after dinner. I cannot describe the joy of those trips. Our journey would proceed around hills, paddy fields and ponds full of beautiful lotus flowers in full bloom. Once we reached the temple after a journey of eight hours, we children would be engrossed in games in the ground surrounding the temple. The adults would be busy with preparations for the puja and the feast. Many of the locals would join in the celebrations. Grandfather was particular that everyone must partake of the feast. According to him, giving food was the greatest work of charity, as food is God for the hungry.
When I turned four, my father and the other elders decided that it was time for me to be initiated into the world of letters. The ritual of initiation into learning or vidyarambham at the Devi Temple in Kanyakumari is very famous. Hence, it was decided to take me there for the ceremony. According to my grandmother, Devi Kanyakumari was the deity who had presented her with her first offspring.
That particular trip by oxen cart through the luxuriant farmlands of Kanyakumari District was quite unforgettable. We reached the temple and had our darshan (glimpse) of the deity. The next day, I sat on my grandfather’s lap while he was praying and, after his prayers, he guided my fingers to write my first letters on rice held in a bamboo tray, as per the custom: Om Hari Sree Ganapathaye namah (Pranaams to Lord Vishnu, Goddess Lakshmi and Lord Ganapathy).
The letters of knowledge that were initiated at the feet of Devi Kanyakumari became the guiding lamps of my life and led me to all my accomplishments. Let me prostrate myself mentally before the feet of the Devi, my mother, my forefathers and all my teachers.