Alagu subramaniam biography of rory

My grandmother died late at night on a Saturday while my sister, brother and I were fast asleep. We were wakened in the morning by the cries from grandmother’s house and the sound of drums.

We dressed hurriedly and ran to her place. A large gathering was there, and the space between the boundary fence and the outer verandah was lined with people.

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We pushed our way through the crowd to the centre of the hut in search of our mother. We were feeling afraid because it was the first funeral we had attended.

We had hardly entered grandmother’s house when we heard the shouts of the ‘Master of Ceremonies’, who was in charge of all arrangements on such occasions.

He was our uncle, a teacher in a small school and a trifle mad.

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He always spoke rapidly and loudly. And when he was angry he would shout at the top of his voice until the whole village heard him. This morning he was furious because the professional mourners had not yet arrived. ‘I’ll go and fetch them myself,’