The Little Boy Inspired By a Monk

I don’t remember exactly when I saw him for the first time. I know that I was of an age where I could identify and remember him as a Monk. He preferred to come home with my dad and few very well known faces in the form of my dad’s colleagues and relatives who would pace into the rented flat where I lived with parents. He was appealingly petite and bubbly in contrast to his counterparts and was one of the main reasons why I liked him. I knew that he was a monk but was not permitted to touch him or even take his name. What surprised me was that nobody called him by any name. His fragrance use to fill the atmosphere and I used to feel good about it. I liked his presence in my house because whenever he was around nobody asked me to study. My mom used to be busy in the kitchen whenever he was around though he never ate or drank anything, but I always remained astounded as to why everyone respected him. The most shocking incident the hurt my dad and his company on an occasion when he tripped and fell, everyone in my house was upset and silence sealed my flat. I wondered what was wrong. My dad’s company bid adieus and walked out of my house.

I heard the tinkling of the keys on my door and knew that was my dad returning from work, in anxiety I rushed to the main door hoping to see the monk with my dad, but he was not there. Thought he would walk in after a while with one of my dad’s friends but this time around he never did. I was devastated and upset. I controlled my emotions and cursed him for not coming home though he never spoke to me. In spite of a curfew over me not to speak about the monk to anyone anywhere, I still wanted to ask my mom as to where he was. Refrained myself due to the fear of being spanked. Tantrum started to rule me when I saw my mom serving dinner and started to sob not answering to any of my mom’s queries. Coffined in the kitchen I allowed my tantrum to cut loose behind the LPG cylinder, a customary spot whenever dad was around. The equalizer of my voice went out of control and heard my dad at the top of his tone “da ninakku addi venno” (do you want to be spanked). My tantrum flew off in fear and sobbing stopped as if 10 Boeing 747’s has shut down the engines. I hid behind my mom holding her sari and started to mumble ‘Daughter Who, Daughter Who’. Laughter filled in the kitchen and was told that I’ve got 15 minutes more. Daughter who- the difficulty of a little boy who grew up to pronounce it with a better accent as “DOCTOR WHO”.

Doctor who, a British Science fiction television program produced by BBC. It Portrays the adventures of a mysterious alien time traveler known as the Doctor who, who travels in his space and time ship named Tardis, which appears from the exterior to be a blue 1950 police box. He explores time and space, solving problems facing monsters and righting wrongs. The program originally was telecasted from 1963 to 1989 and is listed in the Guinness book of world records as the longest run science fiction television show in the world and is also a significant part of British popular culture, recognized for its imaginative stories. The show has become a cult television favorite around the world and many grew up watching the series. In 2006 Doctor Who received recognition from critics and the public as one of the finest British television program for best drama series from British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA Awards).


I was one of those probable little kid who for some explanation was fond of the program though cant reminisce what is was all about. The title music still reverberates in my full-blown brain. The reason for my tantrum being I never missed the show and food was always served way after the so called Daughter Who. Wondered why food so early on that particular day. Being a very bad eater in my childhood my mom still managed to thrust in my share of food. I never really fashioned any nature of nuisance when dad was around, though a very amiable human being he still was a scare for me in his on way. We all reclined to bed after dinner and the monk was a matter of anxiety in me for his nonappearance that calendar day.

My parents never had lunch the following day though I had my share of rice and meen arry (Fish Curry), as a kid pronouncing ‘ca’ was an intricate mission, so the curry was always aary. The evening was unusual compared to the normal days. The dinning table was packed with lots of eatables like, variety of fruit and fried stuff among them one was my all time favorite pazham porri (Fried Banana). Sort of feasted on it and never bothered to enquiry about this untimely meal. I was more inquisitive about the missing monk and could stand no more with regards to his absence. I was determined to fling out the subject about the monk to my mom in the most hushed approach. A motherly stare gave me the answer to my innocent query and though not content I masked from the potential battle field. My folks skipping the lunch and the untimely meal continued for days and weeks. The little kid was happy as he could gorge on his pazham porri every evening.

It’s been an elongated time since I have seen my dad’s group and the monk. Gradually the little boy started to forget them and rolled on with his usual tantrum and tomfoolery. Then came this day when I was woken up in the morning and given a shower and mom clad me up in a new pair of innovative outfit. I was feeling cheerful for the reason that I thought we all were going someplace. Leave alone going out but there was this intermittent bustling of the door bell and the forgotten faces started reappearing one by one and finally the monk arrived with a group giving a lovely smile on everyone. That smile from the group of people at home gave me assurance that it was not me alone who missed him. The monk obviously had a higher reputation among his counterpart, majority crowded around him except for a few relatives and my father, this act of my father turned out as a shock to me. Gained bravery and walked up to dad to ask him why he was being so indifferent and unconcerned with the monk. Laughter filled in my room and multiplied all over the flat, I was kissed by all the people who were around the monk. My dad silently left the group and joined the monk bring a symptom of contentment in the little boy. As I grew older I realized that the skipping of lunch was during the fasting month subsequently followed by Easter

I grew up into an adult with a behavior, a character and a personality of my own. The monk still lives on as young as he was when I saw him for the first time. Strange that he never changed and never grew, remains as charming as he was, preserving and enjoying his celebrity status. I started to touch him and succeeded to drag him into my friend circle. I realized that he is a source of love. He gets the strangest of people a sense of togetherness and sometimes plays his little behavior of revulsion among the group but returns to retain love among the abhorrence. He is a magician who appears at different places at the same time for them who love him not caring if one is alone or in a group. He makes himself present when you are depressed or blissful.

His first name is Old and with a last name Monk. He is OLD MONK vatted Indian rum, blended and aged for 7 years though there is also more expensive 12 year old version. It is dark with an alcohol content of 42.8%. It is produced by Mohan Maekin Brewery, based in Mohan Nagar, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. It is available in all parts of India and is the third largest selling rum in the world. OLD MONK has been the biggest Indian Made Foreign Liquor (IMFL) brand for many years. It is sold in four variants quarter (180ml), half (350ml), commonly referred full (750ml) and a 1 liter bottle. OLD MONK is so widely used among people of all ages that suppliers find it difficult to meet demand.

Long Live Alcoholism and Long Live OLD MONK