When we are middle aged we have a different perspective on the memorable incidents of our past. Recently my daughters and I were recollecting the day's events on the day Prime Minister Indra Gandhi was shot dead by her bodyguard early in the morning at her residence.
Our daughters, one 6 years and the younger 4 years old were in school by the time my husband rang up from office that the PM was confirmed dead according to his colleagues in Delhi though the state radio AIR was insisting that she was being treated in the hospital. Needless to say this news had caused the immediate stoning and stopping of all public transport and all the schools closed their gates at once as is usual in our state, with no concern for the children who wouldn't have an idea about how to reach home. All the stay at home mothers were hard pressed to think of safe ways to bring the kids home from school who had been earlier dropped by school rickshaws which had stopped pying on this news.
As the school was just one km away from our home, I thought I could go by walk with my neighbour and bring our kids home. Just a few yards on our way, we saw our daughters walking their way home with the neighbours' daughter who was in 4th standard at that time. On that day, I was so relieved that the older girl managed to bring our kids home safely. But now I shudder to think that the 'older' girl was only nine years old at that time and not so old!
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Superstar in Our Home!
Our old washing machine was making a lot of noise while doing its job. We called in a serviceman who recommended changing the whole set of mechanical parts to stop the noise.
The repair work was done and the machine was operating smoothly with hardly a murmur when my husband came in and noticed the absence of the usual loud banging noises.
He commented tongue in cheek:
"Look the Superstar Rajini is here instead of Prabhdeva and Lawrence who were here till yesterday! And the movie is running more successfully with minimum movement from the hero! "
The repair work was done and the machine was operating smoothly with hardly a murmur when my husband came in and noticed the absence of the usual loud banging noises.
He commented tongue in cheek:
"Look the Superstar Rajini is here instead of Prabhdeva and Lawrence who were here till yesterday! And the movie is running more successfully with minimum movement from the hero! "
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Got change?
This happened in the same trip where three families travelled together. When we vacated the hotel room we found out that the advance paid had far exceeded the hotel bill. All had taken our seats in the vehicle while my brother-in-law stayed back to settle the bill.
The owner of the small town lodge had gone out and only his assistant was at the cash register which contained hardly any cash. This was not one of the computerised lobby of a big hotel in a posh city. All accounts had been written down in a notebook and all receipts were written out. So the assistant at the reception table said that he had phoned his employer who would arrive within the hour to give us back the two hundred bucks he owed us. But we were in a hurry to set on our return journey and all were thinking of ways and means to solve this problem.
When the assistant was asked if he could borrow cash from the neighbouring grocery shop, he did so and found that they too did not have the two hundred bucks but only a five hundred bill. No change!
One of the family party looked at the shop on the other side and started , perhaps these people might have the change...' It was a barber shop (Hair stylists in big cities) and my husband said promptly,
'Where is he going to find so much money early in the day, he might only offer to shave (mottai) four heads free of charge and collect the two hundred bucks from the lodge owner when he comes back!"
All broke out laughing! The driver who had been observing all the cracks made by the passengers throughout the journey almost rolled on the floor laughing and said between spasms of laughter. "Sir I might have to get admitted in the hospital by the time I drop you all back, just because of stomach ache resulting from the non-stop laughter!"
The owner of the small town lodge had gone out and only his assistant was at the cash register which contained hardly any cash. This was not one of the computerised lobby of a big hotel in a posh city. All accounts had been written down in a notebook and all receipts were written out. So the assistant at the reception table said that he had phoned his employer who would arrive within the hour to give us back the two hundred bucks he owed us. But we were in a hurry to set on our return journey and all were thinking of ways and means to solve this problem.
When the assistant was asked if he could borrow cash from the neighbouring grocery shop, he did so and found that they too did not have the two hundred bucks but only a five hundred bill. No change!
One of the family party looked at the shop on the other side and started , perhaps these people might have the change...' It was a barber shop (Hair stylists in big cities) and my husband said promptly,
'Where is he going to find so much money early in the day, he might only offer to shave (mottai) four heads free of charge and collect the two hundred bucks from the lodge owner when he comes back!"
All broke out laughing! The driver who had been observing all the cracks made by the passengers throughout the journey almost rolled on the floor laughing and said between spasms of laughter. "Sir I might have to get admitted in the hospital by the time I drop you all back, just because of stomach ache resulting from the non-stop laughter!"
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Eating out!
We used to travel quite a lot when we were small. Every two or three years my father got transferred and so we had to pack and move to the new place. Besides these travels we used to go to our native place almost for every school holiday. Added to these travels, my parents, especially my mother, loved travelling and took us on trips to new places for sightseeing every other year, as described elsewhere.
After my childhood, the same pattern repeated albeit in a grander scale as my husband and I were moving between states rather than districts. Our family covered the sightseeing tours offered in the faraway places in the last year before we moved to a new place. In between we had to make a long trip to visit our native state for weddings in the family or celebrating festivals together.
In all these trips, one aspect of the travel has changed through the years. My mother used to take a stove and flour in the car boot, to make wheat, ragi or rice dosa. This way we were assured of hygienic meals wherever we put up for the night.
For the first day of our journey we used to equip ourselves with lots of rice and pickles. Tamarind rice always won hands down in my mom's list as it could keep even for two days. Idlis with milagai podi was the favoured choice for breakfast or dinner that day. She used to pack a bundle of dried banana leaves to serve them on for the numerous members of our large family. Two ground sheets were packed for us to sit in the shade of a tree on the roadside in case we hadn't reached our destination before mealtime. At that time I used to complain about the cold idlis, the wrinkled dry leaf that served as plate and the ants that tried to crawl on to our picnic sheet. In retrospect I realize we were following a 'green' way of life with disposable organic packing materials!
The hotels we ate in served food on green banana leaves, used only once and readily disposable as wandering cattle 'recycled' them as their food at the back door ofthe hotel! We trusted enough to drink the water they served. Maybe pollution was not a problem back then! In fact till we moved to Chennai we never boiled drinking water, using 'thetankottai' to get clear water from river water.
By the time I got married, the travel meals consisted of food packets prepared for the three meals of the 24 hours journey by the loving relatives in whose house we were staying. I can never forget how my mother-in-law got up at 4 o' clock in the morning to make parcels of idlis for breakfast to eat on the train and packets of lemon rice, curd rice, potato curry and pickles for lunch! She really spoiled us daughter-in-laws by behaving more like a mother to all of us:-)
Sometime during this period the Indian trains served hygienic albeit tasteless food from their pantry cars. This prompted us to tell orrelatives not to go to the troule of preparing meals for our train journeys. But we did miss the tasty home food as we ate the insipid train food!
Nowadays, hygienic and tasty food is available in the motels and inns on the roadside and packaged drinking water is everywhere. The train food has improved cosiderably too. The idea of eating only home made food has given way to eating out as often as possible even when we are not travelling. What a sea change in a few decades! Already ready-to-cook and ready-to-eat food packets are available in all the grocery stores. At this rate in another few decades there would be no home cooked food at all and the only people who cook their own meals would be health freaks who like to eat only 'fresh' food!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Dog's years?
When my relative turned forty her husband presented her with a gold chain.
When he heard about it my husband quipped, ' naarpathu vayasile naai gunam'*so a chain is a very appropriate gift!'
* It is an idiom in Tamil meaning, At forty man's character resembles that of a dog, with barks and bites an everyday occurence.
When he heard about it my husband quipped, ' naarpathu vayasile naai gunam'*so a chain is a very appropriate gift!'
* It is an idiom in Tamil meaning, At forty man's character resembles that of a dog, with barks and bites an everyday occurence.
Monday, May 10, 2010
TLC for Teeth!
I was getting the breakfast ready and peeped out of the kitchen to see if the family was ready to have hot dosas as they don't eat cold ones.I saw my husband brushing his teeth and turned away saying,'Oh, you are brushing your teeth?'He spat out the foam and started saying something. I waited to hear what important info that couldn't wait till he finished brushing.He said,'No, I am just caressing them one by one!'
Sports Day at Antsville!
One day I was drawing the anti-ant chalk pesticide along the sides of the wall in the living room and said to my husband,
'I keep drawing these lines (Lakshman Rekha brand pesticide chalk stick) but the ants keep crossing them!'
My husband said,
'Maybe they think you are holding a hurdles race and drawn the lines for them to jump across!'
'I keep drawing these lines (Lakshman Rekha brand pesticide chalk stick) but the ants keep crossing them!'
My husband said,
'Maybe they think you are holding a hurdles race and drawn the lines for them to jump across!'
From the mouth of babes....
My daughters have picked up/inherited sarcastic wit from their father. As a result they would reply to some of my questions in a roundabout way which simply wouldn't reach my brain and I would take them too literally for their comfort. Then they would be forced to translate the same into a straight statement which is maddening for them!
Once when my elder daughter was in elementary school I was packing her lunch. She asked me to pack some halwah (Sweet) brought by her uncle on his visit the previous day. I asked her, "Why?"
She replied, 'See you have packed Idlis for my lunch. If I mix it with the Halwah and make a paste of it for lunch it tastes divine!'
Taking her literally, I replied innocently, "Oh, I see. This is a new dish I have never tried out myself. Should try it sometime." And proceeded with packing some halwah.
My daughter stood there silently for a few minutes overcoming the dumb reaction to her sarcasm and then burst out to say, "Mummy, I just said that to tell you 'what a question, I just want the halwah as a snack for the rescess!"
I replied, "Then why didn't you just say so?"
By this time she had started laughing: "And please don't try out the 'new dish!' "
My co-sisters (other daughter-in-laws in my husband's fsamily-he has three more brothers besides his only sister-all of whom are masters in this art of sarcastic wit, thanks to the genes passed on by my late father-in-law!) would discuss this aspect of our daily exchanges in our families and we would have a hilarious time recollecting the happenings at each one of our homes which would have the same tone to them. Juxtaposed with a very literal mind, the sarcasm often fails to have the desired effect! This way we outsiders act as a buffer zone for their wit which would have otherwise become too sharp for comfort in their interaction with society at large. So we say to ourselves modestly, in defence of our being very slow on the uptake of their wit:-)
Once when my elder daughter was in elementary school I was packing her lunch. She asked me to pack some halwah (Sweet) brought by her uncle on his visit the previous day. I asked her, "Why?"
She replied, 'See you have packed Idlis for my lunch. If I mix it with the Halwah and make a paste of it for lunch it tastes divine!'
Taking her literally, I replied innocently, "Oh, I see. This is a new dish I have never tried out myself. Should try it sometime." And proceeded with packing some halwah.
My daughter stood there silently for a few minutes overcoming the dumb reaction to her sarcasm and then burst out to say, "Mummy, I just said that to tell you 'what a question, I just want the halwah as a snack for the rescess!"
I replied, "Then why didn't you just say so?"
By this time she had started laughing: "And please don't try out the 'new dish!' "
My co-sisters (other daughter-in-laws in my husband's fsamily-he has three more brothers besides his only sister-all of whom are masters in this art of sarcastic wit, thanks to the genes passed on by my late father-in-law!) would discuss this aspect of our daily exchanges in our families and we would have a hilarious time recollecting the happenings at each one of our homes which would have the same tone to them. Juxtaposed with a very literal mind, the sarcasm often fails to have the desired effect! This way we outsiders act as a buffer zone for their wit which would have otherwise become too sharp for comfort in their interaction with society at large. So we say to ourselves modestly, in defence of our being very slow on the uptake of their wit:-)
Armour against sarcasm!
The tendency to express anything sarcastically sometimes backfires. To understand any clever remark that has a figurative meaning you need an audience that has a modicum of intelligence. Which is unfortunately missing in a section of the population at least. This has led to many a hilarious situation in our daily lives among the general public apart from the setting of our family.Once we were travelling to Kumbakonam via Chidambaram, the temple town. We had stopped at a small hotel in the town to have our lunch. The waiter spread out washed banana leaves which serve as disposable plates in South India. He then kept stainless steel glasses for water to drink, before everyone seated. Unfortunately he had skipped my husband's place and gone back to bring the water jug. He then proceeded to pour water into each tumbler.When he came to my husband's place, my husband asked him "Where is my water?"The waiter blinked to see that there was no glass in his place and being the dumb person he was,said:"Where should I pour the water?"My husband replied angrily,"Pour it on my head!"Whereupon this man actually started to tilt the jug above my husband's head and I stopped him just in time saying,"He is angry and so he said like that! Don't you realize that? Just bring a glass and serve the water!"The man muttered something about why we should not have said so in the first place and went inside to do that.The minute he turned his back, I promptly burst out laughing thinking of what might have happened, had I not stopped the waiter. My husband also thought of the same thing and seeing me laughing joined us grinning.Lesson learnt: You should use your sarcasm only where it would pierce the brain and prick, not where it hardly makes a dent-for dumbness makes a mighty armour against sarcasm!
Humour at Home
My husband has a great sense of humour. In fact all his siblings share this trait. As a result all our family gatherings are a riot of jokes and funny anecdotes and every few minutes there would be a burst of laughter! I am very fortunate to be married into his family, considering how acutely we lack the art of repartee in my side of the family! My daughters have taken after him and the funny retorts continue to this day at home:-)
My father-in-law was the original quick repartee champion and all his children have taken after him. In this context, it is relevant to remember that my mother-in-law and myself are a bit slow to catch on to the sarcasm involved in these exchanges. In fact all the daughters in law sadly lack this trait and wake up to their sarcasm rather late! It makes it all the more easier for the 'Mandhis' -(monkeys)-(as my husband's family has been nicknamed, in revenge, by all the daughters -in law, after their family name of 'Mandhikanakkans' in the days of yore-which suits them very well when you consider their antics!) to tease us 'outsiders' non-stop in any family gatherings as we slowly fumble through their quick comments!
Ours was an arranged marriage like most of the marriages in our country. We had hardly looked at each other before the wedding day and any talking before the wedding day was unthinkable thirty years back! The very first time I started a conversation with my husband was the day of our marriage when we travelled by car (from my home town where our wedding had taken place in the early morning) to his place where a reception was being held.
On the way we stopped for some refreshments and we bought tender cucumbers to eat along with a drink of tender coconut water. The roadside stall had both and the man started cutting the top off the cocnut when my new husband noticed that I was still nibbling at the cucumbers. He asked me, "Oh you still haven't finished eating the cucumbers?"
I replied:
'My granny has told me that you would live to be a hundred years if you chew your food well"
For which my hasband replied:
"It is better to live a fifty years eating fast and enjoying the rest of the time instead of spending the additional fifty years in the act of eating!"
I burst into laughter. With this, the ice was broken and he started asking me whether I knew anything about his workplace in the north-which was the city of Pune. I was still in college then and remembered a geographical fact about the city.
"I know that it is in the rain-shadow region of Maharashtra and that it gets less rainfall than the city of Mumbai which is but a hundred kilometres from there". Then, to make conversation I asked, "Is it true you get less rain?"
My husband stared at me a moment and then exclaimed, "Of course, we don't get much rains there. In fact it is almost a desert and we have to ride camels to go anywhere in the city as otherwise commuting is very difficult. In fact I rode on a camel to reach the railway station....." when I realized slowly that he was pulling my leg!
And so I got initiated into his clan's brand of humour!
My father-in-law was the original quick repartee champion and all his children have taken after him. In this context, it is relevant to remember that my mother-in-law and myself are a bit slow to catch on to the sarcasm involved in these exchanges. In fact all the daughters in law sadly lack this trait and wake up to their sarcasm rather late! It makes it all the more easier for the 'Mandhis' -(monkeys)-(as my husband's family has been nicknamed, in revenge, by all the daughters -in law, after their family name of 'Mandhikanakkans' in the days of yore-which suits them very well when you consider their antics!) to tease us 'outsiders' non-stop in any family gatherings as we slowly fumble through their quick comments!
Ours was an arranged marriage like most of the marriages in our country. We had hardly looked at each other before the wedding day and any talking before the wedding day was unthinkable thirty years back! The very first time I started a conversation with my husband was the day of our marriage when we travelled by car (from my home town where our wedding had taken place in the early morning) to his place where a reception was being held.
On the way we stopped for some refreshments and we bought tender cucumbers to eat along with a drink of tender coconut water. The roadside stall had both and the man started cutting the top off the cocnut when my new husband noticed that I was still nibbling at the cucumbers. He asked me, "Oh you still haven't finished eating the cucumbers?"
I replied:
'My granny has told me that you would live to be a hundred years if you chew your food well"
For which my hasband replied:
"It is better to live a fifty years eating fast and enjoying the rest of the time instead of spending the additional fifty years in the act of eating!"
I burst into laughter. With this, the ice was broken and he started asking me whether I knew anything about his workplace in the north-which was the city of Pune. I was still in college then and remembered a geographical fact about the city.
"I know that it is in the rain-shadow region of Maharashtra and that it gets less rainfall than the city of Mumbai which is but a hundred kilometres from there". Then, to make conversation I asked, "Is it true you get less rain?"
My husband stared at me a moment and then exclaimed, "Of course, we don't get much rains there. In fact it is almost a desert and we have to ride camels to go anywhere in the city as otherwise commuting is very difficult. In fact I rode on a camel to reach the railway station....." when I realized slowly that he was pulling my leg!
And so I got initiated into his clan's brand of humour!
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Which vegetable is this?
I was a newly married girl just settled in my marital home in Pune with my husband .(Actually still a teenager, as my parents arranged a marriage with a 'suitable boy' when I was still in college!) In fact I was still attending the final year of my college and my experience in cooking was still in the rudimentary stage. I could cook a South Indian meal, both veg and non-veg, though my cooking was confined to the most common vegetables available.
When my parents and relatives left us after a week of settling me down in my new home, I was inconsolable. As a distraction, my husband took me shopping for vegetables. He said he would like 'poosanikkai' (ashgourd) sambar and asked me to buy a piece of it. We were standing in front of a stall which had big ball-like vegetables stacked in the front. One was yellow in colour and the other was green. I knew one of them was 'posanikkai' but didn't know which one.
I could not ask the shopkeeper for 'poosanikkai' in Marathi or Hindi as I didn't know the equivalent name in those languages. Confusion! Gathering a bit of courage, I stammered out to my new husband whether he knew which was 'poosanikkai' and then I could point it out to the shopkeeper to cut a piece of it. He was flabbergasted to find out that his wife didn't even know enough about cooking to identify his favourite vegetables and his face was a study in shock! He must have thought that his future home meals would be complete disasters, going by this experience.
But I acquitted myself well enough in my very first dinner as my chicken preparation with all the masala from my mother's recipe outshone the one he and his friend had been preparing in his bachelor days in 'British style' (with only pepper and salt)! As it was a Sunday he had bought a whole dressed chicken for me to preapre. (In our family we always prepare non-veg meals on Sundays and the poosanikkai was stored in the fridge for the next day's cooking.) So he forgot the 'poosanikkai' episode soon enough. Of course I didn't tell him until after the dinner that it was the very first time I had touched a dressed chicken! (My mother never let me prepare chicken in our house as I might have spoiled Sunday's lunch by experimenting the main dish with my beginner's attempt.) And it was quite a fight to cut it into pieces-my husband also never knew till a few weeks later, from his friend who was also newly married but a few months before us, that the shopkeeper would cut the chicken into manageable pieces, if we so asked.
But after this now-funny incident was recounted by me to all my relatives amidst laughter, any girl who didn't show any interest in cooking was immediately supported by her doting parents, quoting this incident. If 'P'(me) who couldn't identify poosanikkai could cook for a dozen people within a few days of her marriage, anyone could learn cooking in days!
When my parents and relatives left us after a week of settling me down in my new home, I was inconsolable. As a distraction, my husband took me shopping for vegetables. He said he would like 'poosanikkai' (ashgourd) sambar and asked me to buy a piece of it. We were standing in front of a stall which had big ball-like vegetables stacked in the front. One was yellow in colour and the other was green. I knew one of them was 'posanikkai' but didn't know which one.
I could not ask the shopkeeper for 'poosanikkai' in Marathi or Hindi as I didn't know the equivalent name in those languages. Confusion! Gathering a bit of courage, I stammered out to my new husband whether he knew which was 'poosanikkai' and then I could point it out to the shopkeeper to cut a piece of it. He was flabbergasted to find out that his wife didn't even know enough about cooking to identify his favourite vegetables and his face was a study in shock! He must have thought that his future home meals would be complete disasters, going by this experience.
But I acquitted myself well enough in my very first dinner as my chicken preparation with all the masala from my mother's recipe outshone the one he and his friend had been preparing in his bachelor days in 'British style' (with only pepper and salt)! As it was a Sunday he had bought a whole dressed chicken for me to preapre. (In our family we always prepare non-veg meals on Sundays and the poosanikkai was stored in the fridge for the next day's cooking.) So he forgot the 'poosanikkai' episode soon enough. Of course I didn't tell him until after the dinner that it was the very first time I had touched a dressed chicken! (My mother never let me prepare chicken in our house as I might have spoiled Sunday's lunch by experimenting the main dish with my beginner's attempt.) And it was quite a fight to cut it into pieces-my husband also never knew till a few weeks later, from his friend who was also newly married but a few months before us, that the shopkeeper would cut the chicken into manageable pieces, if we so asked.
But after this now-funny incident was recounted by me to all my relatives amidst laughter, any girl who didn't show any interest in cooking was immediately supported by her doting parents, quoting this incident. If 'P'(me) who couldn't identify poosanikkai could cook for a dozen people within a few days of her marriage, anyone could learn cooking in days!
Monday, October 05, 2009
Did I know Hindi?
When I got married I joined my husband who was working in a city in the north. As we were taught only our mother tongue Tamil and English in the school, the few words in Hindi I did know were all picked up from the Hindi films I had watched. (When I was in sixth standard, the anti-Hindi agitation came to a head and our Hindi classes stopped. Our Hindi Pandit was designated as the new moral science teacher as she had been made redundant by the new rule banning Hindi from schools!)
Around the time I was in high school, English films were banned in India (along with Coca Cola etc.,) and so, even the small towns we lived in during the course of my father's transfers through Tamilnadu, started screening blockbuster Hindi movies like Bobby and Aradhana. From these movies we picked up a smattering of Hindi words. Well, I knew 'acha' meant 'good', 'aavo' meant 'come' and all the other 'kuthe kaminey and neechey' were swear words uttered by the distressed towards the villains and were of no use for day-to-day use in my new life.
My parents, little sister, uncle and aunt came to settle me in my new home. The shopping seemed very easy to me as my Mom and Aunt managed to buy things after pointing at the things they needed for cooking during the week they stayed with us. Even my little sister managed to get curry leaves from the corner vegetable vendor by herself! I thought it was no big deal that I didn't know Hindi as I could very well manage with English. Alas! Little did I know that the vegetable seller, the newspaper boy, the electrician, the old newspaper buyer, the milkman- in short, all the persons we come into contact with in our daily life- knew very few words in English! My people left on a Saturday and the next day being a Sunday my husband took me to a movie and the market. I was very much impressed by the fluent Hindi he spoke to the shopkeepers and despaired what I could do all alone in the house when he went to work!
Before leaving for work the next day, a Monday, my husband wrote these words in a note:
'Sahib ab ghar mein nahii. Baadh mein aavo. Shaam che baje ke badh!' (Sir not at home now. Come later. After 6 pm).
I was to memorise these words and recite them any person who rang the doorbell during the course of the day. I told these words to the ruddywalah who, seeing the hitherto locked-during the daytime-house being occupied- came to see if there were old newspapers for disposal. I managed to get along just fine with these words and English. People were ready to oblige the new bride the banker had brought from down South and tried to understand what I wanted to say, from the accompanying gestures. Being mostly Marathis they were amazed to find a person who knew neither Marathi nor Hindi and gave me pitying looks which made me feel very dumb.
I learnt most of my basic Hindi words from the maid servant and brushed it up from the 'Learn Hindi from English' book my husband owned from his college days where he studied Hindi as a second language. I showed her all the groceries and asked her to teach me the Hindi equivalent of each item. She used to tell me the names both in Hindi and Marathi but I had to choose one language at a time and I thought that hindi being the national language might come in handy even if we got transferred out of Maharashtra and so, concentrated on the Hindi words. When I went to buy vegetables and fruits, I asked the friendly lady at the shop the Hindi names of each item and learnt them too. She also taught me the Hindi names of numbers, right from 1,2,3... and 10,20,30..... I learnt fast so much so that I could manage most shopping and money transactions with my rudimentary Hindi knowledge.
I found out that the street vendors who sold onions potatoes and tomatoes on wheeled carts selling at much lower prices than the shop and ventured out to call them from the balcony and started buying these items from them. One day I could see a man and woman team selling something in a covered basket and voicing some word whose meaning I couldn't make out. Smitten by curiosity, I called out from the balcony to stop them and went to see what they were selling, some kind of fruits....?
They spoke something in Marathi (or Hindi?) which I couldn't understand but I gestured them to open the basket. They opened and out came a cobra, hissing and flashing its forked tongue! Imagine my shock! It turned out that the day was Nag Panchami on which day it was very auspicious to worship snakes in Maharashtra and these villagers were giving doorstep service to the women in the city, earning extra money from this unique once a year business opportunity!
Around the time I was in high school, English films were banned in India (along with Coca Cola etc.,) and so, even the small towns we lived in during the course of my father's transfers through Tamilnadu, started screening blockbuster Hindi movies like Bobby and Aradhana. From these movies we picked up a smattering of Hindi words. Well, I knew 'acha' meant 'good', 'aavo' meant 'come' and all the other 'kuthe kaminey and neechey' were swear words uttered by the distressed towards the villains and were of no use for day-to-day use in my new life.
My parents, little sister, uncle and aunt came to settle me in my new home. The shopping seemed very easy to me as my Mom and Aunt managed to buy things after pointing at the things they needed for cooking during the week they stayed with us. Even my little sister managed to get curry leaves from the corner vegetable vendor by herself! I thought it was no big deal that I didn't know Hindi as I could very well manage with English. Alas! Little did I know that the vegetable seller, the newspaper boy, the electrician, the old newspaper buyer, the milkman- in short, all the persons we come into contact with in our daily life- knew very few words in English! My people left on a Saturday and the next day being a Sunday my husband took me to a movie and the market. I was very much impressed by the fluent Hindi he spoke to the shopkeepers and despaired what I could do all alone in the house when he went to work!
Before leaving for work the next day, a Monday, my husband wrote these words in a note:
'Sahib ab ghar mein nahii. Baadh mein aavo. Shaam che baje ke badh!' (Sir not at home now. Come later. After 6 pm).
I was to memorise these words and recite them any person who rang the doorbell during the course of the day. I told these words to the ruddywalah who, seeing the hitherto locked-during the daytime-house being occupied- came to see if there were old newspapers for disposal. I managed to get along just fine with these words and English. People were ready to oblige the new bride the banker had brought from down South and tried to understand what I wanted to say, from the accompanying gestures. Being mostly Marathis they were amazed to find a person who knew neither Marathi nor Hindi and gave me pitying looks which made me feel very dumb.
I learnt most of my basic Hindi words from the maid servant and brushed it up from the 'Learn Hindi from English' book my husband owned from his college days where he studied Hindi as a second language. I showed her all the groceries and asked her to teach me the Hindi equivalent of each item. She used to tell me the names both in Hindi and Marathi but I had to choose one language at a time and I thought that hindi being the national language might come in handy even if we got transferred out of Maharashtra and so, concentrated on the Hindi words. When I went to buy vegetables and fruits, I asked the friendly lady at the shop the Hindi names of each item and learnt them too. She also taught me the Hindi names of numbers, right from 1,2,3... and 10,20,30..... I learnt fast so much so that I could manage most shopping and money transactions with my rudimentary Hindi knowledge.
I found out that the street vendors who sold onions potatoes and tomatoes on wheeled carts selling at much lower prices than the shop and ventured out to call them from the balcony and started buying these items from them. One day I could see a man and woman team selling something in a covered basket and voicing some word whose meaning I couldn't make out. Smitten by curiosity, I called out from the balcony to stop them and went to see what they were selling, some kind of fruits....?
They spoke something in Marathi (or Hindi?) which I couldn't understand but I gestured them to open the basket. They opened and out came a cobra, hissing and flashing its forked tongue! Imagine my shock! It turned out that the day was Nag Panchami on which day it was very auspicious to worship snakes in Maharashtra and these villagers were giving doorstep service to the women in the city, earning extra money from this unique once a year business opportunity!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Wearing flowers
When we were in school, every day we used to wear fresh flowers in our plaits whenever available. We used to hear that some schools did not allow girls to wear flowers as the jasmine and other flowers invariably got loosened from the strings and dropped on the school floor. The trash was an ugly sight no doubt and we could understand that rule. But we used to pity those girls. Wearing fresh flowers uplifted our mood and brought the great outdoors inside the classrooms in which we were cooped up.
Some girls had gardens around their houses and used to wear single roses. Or even twin jasmine flowers or 'kanakambaram' straight from the bush, with a green leaf to provide volume and contrast colour to the arrangement perched on one side of the head, usually just above an ear. Other girls (like me!) who had to buy from the vendors used to burn with envy on seeing the different and unique colours a home grown variety yielded. The common kankambaram was a boring mild orange in colour but these girls wore dark red or pleasant yellow kanakambaram strings.
Some girls wore hibiscus flowers. Not the common red five petalled ones but the 'adukku'(Layered) sembaruthi flowers in every hue of red, yellow, pink and white. Of course, the mothers would yell at us admonishing us not to wear any and every flower we found on our way to the school. It would encourage the infestation of head lice (according to the old wives' tales)! But we were so crazy after flowers that we never heeded their words and the moment we disappeared round the corner, we would pluck the hibiscus or 'arali' flowers dangling outside the compound walls of our neighbours!
Now I know why South Indian ladies (of my generation only- already girls of younger generations in the big cities have got rid of long hair and wearing flowers!) visiting other places manage to pluck a flower or two (theirs or others', it doesn't seem to matter to them) and wear it just above their ears. I grew out of this habit years ago when we moved to a North Indian city.Wearing flowers was not a daily habit as it was down South. Women wore flowers only when attending marriages or some such formal functions and festivals.
Some girls had gardens around their houses and used to wear single roses. Or even twin jasmine flowers or 'kanakambaram' straight from the bush, with a green leaf to provide volume and contrast colour to the arrangement perched on one side of the head, usually just above an ear. Other girls (like me!) who had to buy from the vendors used to burn with envy on seeing the different and unique colours a home grown variety yielded. The common kankambaram was a boring mild orange in colour but these girls wore dark red or pleasant yellow kanakambaram strings.
Some girls wore hibiscus flowers. Not the common red five petalled ones but the 'adukku'(Layered) sembaruthi flowers in every hue of red, yellow, pink and white. Of course, the mothers would yell at us admonishing us not to wear any and every flower we found on our way to the school. It would encourage the infestation of head lice (according to the old wives' tales)! But we were so crazy after flowers that we never heeded their words and the moment we disappeared round the corner, we would pluck the hibiscus or 'arali' flowers dangling outside the compound walls of our neighbours!
Now I know why South Indian ladies (of my generation only- already girls of younger generations in the big cities have got rid of long hair and wearing flowers!) visiting other places manage to pluck a flower or two (theirs or others', it doesn't seem to matter to them) and wear it just above their ears. I grew out of this habit years ago when we moved to a North Indian city.Wearing flowers was not a daily habit as it was down South. Women wore flowers only when attending marriages or some such formal functions and festivals.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Pocket Money!
The other day I heard my sister telling us that they are giving three thousand rupees as pocket money to her college going son. When my mouth fell open, she explained that it included his fuel bills and mobile phone bills.
A few years back, I remember my kids getting a hundred rupees each when they went to high school. It was for the purpose of buying birthday greeting cards for their friends and other such petty expenses. This was before the age of mobiles and so we parents did not feel the pinch as do parents of the present generation. Besides the kids didn't have their own vehicles mostly except for bicycles. For filling in air for the wheels they needed only a few coins and the parents usually accompanied them to hand out the charge for 'bigger' expense like a puncture!
This started me thinking about my own school/college days. The notion of pocket money was not even heard of. As I have said elsewhere, we were given only bus fare and we used to save ten paise everyday. I still remember how I used the saving of 3 days to buy flowers for my Mom at the Srirangam railway station and got a big hug from her. The next few days saw her telling everyone of our neighbours about the 'jathipoo' her daughter got for her. This practice lasted for the three months I travelled by the passenger train from Lalgudi to Trichy town.
When we shifted to buses in the next town, I used the money to buy 5 'pottukadalai urundai' (Sweet fried gram balls) for 25 paise and 'treat' my friends to one sweet ball each!
A few years back, I remember my kids getting a hundred rupees each when they went to high school. It was for the purpose of buying birthday greeting cards for their friends and other such petty expenses. This was before the age of mobiles and so we parents did not feel the pinch as do parents of the present generation. Besides the kids didn't have their own vehicles mostly except for bicycles. For filling in air for the wheels they needed only a few coins and the parents usually accompanied them to hand out the charge for 'bigger' expense like a puncture!
This started me thinking about my own school/college days. The notion of pocket money was not even heard of. As I have said elsewhere, we were given only bus fare and we used to save ten paise everyday. I still remember how I used the saving of 3 days to buy flowers for my Mom at the Srirangam railway station and got a big hug from her. The next few days saw her telling everyone of our neighbours about the 'jathipoo' her daughter got for her. This practice lasted for the three months I travelled by the passenger train from Lalgudi to Trichy town.
When we shifted to buses in the next town, I used the money to buy 5 'pottukadalai urundai' (Sweet fried gram balls) for 25 paise and 'treat' my friends to one sweet ball each!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Happy New Year!
As I recollect my earliest new year celebrations, I remember my mother taking 'head bath', it being a 'nalla naal' (auspicious day) equivalent to any of the countless Hindu festivals. Of course she used to wash her hair for 'varushapirappu' as well as 'mathapirappu' (new month). People would come to our house to wish my father a happy new year-with fruits, sweets and gifts-a custom carried over from the British Raj days when government officials were greeted with gifts on the first day of the New Year. My mother had bought a big coffee vessel just to keep hot coffee to serve all the visitors coffee on this day.
The season would be pleasant with just a nip in the air (as it is now) and the trees would look like they had been washed and waxed, as winter follows the rains in our state. 'December' flowers would be on girls' hair and school-going children would be enjoying the last of their winter vacation, the schools being reopened mostly on 2nd or 3rd January after a fortnight of Half-Yearly holidays including Christmas and New Year. We would have returned from our grandparents' place by then. On very rare occasions, we would have stayed back to celebrate Pongal festival.
With the promise of another bout of holidays for Pongal festival, returning to school would not be as boring as after the shorter Quarterly exam holidays in September. We were contented and happy on this day. The fad of new year resolutions had not caught on. Nor were we old enough to analyse the bygone year's merits and demerits. The new year brought no more challenges or expectations other than having to remember to put the correct number in the year's column when we wrote the date in our school notebooks!
The season would be pleasant with just a nip in the air (as it is now) and the trees would look like they had been washed and waxed, as winter follows the rains in our state. 'December' flowers would be on girls' hair and school-going children would be enjoying the last of their winter vacation, the schools being reopened mostly on 2nd or 3rd January after a fortnight of Half-Yearly holidays including Christmas and New Year. We would have returned from our grandparents' place by then. On very rare occasions, we would have stayed back to celebrate Pongal festival.
With the promise of another bout of holidays for Pongal festival, returning to school would not be as boring as after the shorter Quarterly exam holidays in September. We were contented and happy on this day. The fad of new year resolutions had not caught on. Nor were we old enough to analyse the bygone year's merits and demerits. The new year brought no more challenges or expectations other than having to remember to put the correct number in the year's column when we wrote the date in our school notebooks!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Going to College
When we were studying in school, the educational qualification required before you could enroll for a professional degree or a degree in science and arts was 11+1 years of studies, instead of the 10+2 system high school students these days are familiar with.
The best point of this system was that we were only 16 years of age when we entered into 'college', free from our strict teachers, school uniforms, a long day consisting of 9-5 school hours and a compulsory attendance for all the classes. The worst point was that we had to cram what the +2 students study in two years in the available ten months of classes excluding the summer vacation. So we had very little time to enjoy our new-found freedom. But we made the most of our 'college girl' status and walked with our noses high up in the air whenever we passed our erstwhile juniors of the High School which was in the same campus as our college.
These educational institutions are located in a a sprawling multi-acre campus in a big town, a district capital (now a corporation) and the people were mostly middle class, not super rich as in the state's capital. Our college was one of the best known institutions in the state, exclusively devoted to women's education. It had Masters courses for Physics and Chemistry which even many men's colleges didn't possess. B.Com was introduced in our women's college, in the early seventies, our college being a pioneer in such things always. Till then we had only 'B.A'.s and 'B.Sc' s.
Our college was (and is) steeped in the traditions of our Tamil culture and arts and so had a degree course which conferred a 'B.A.' degree in Carnatic Music! A very strict dress code was enforced and students had to wear only sarees. The 'P.U.C' (Pre-University Course) class to which we belonged was the only exception as we had all completed only 16 years and not so adept in carrying off wearing a saree with aplomb! So we were allowed to wear 'Half-sarees'. We had so much grouse against the management as we all looked very 'country style' whereas the town's other women's college run by nuns allowed their students to wear such 'modern' dresses as salwar-kameez and chudidhars! They could even wear long skirts and blouses as their own High School in their campus had skirts and blouses as their uniforms. We used to envy them their smart uniform of blue skirt and white blouses, while we were in High School (clad in uniform green-coloured half-sarees) and now we were burning with envy at the 'cool' salwar kameez and other North Indian or western dresses their students sported!
Anyway wearing colours other than the green colour of our High School was a welcome change for us. We enjoyed wearing 'colour' dresses every day instead of the boring uniform. But it was no fun once we had shown off all the sets of half-sarees we possessed! We had to wait for the new dresses we usually received for our birthdays or some festivals like Pongal or Deepavali.
My classmates were mostly from my own 11th standard class of the high school and so we didn't feel as nervous as some of my new classmates who had come from other schools or other towns or even from other countries such as Malaysia, Srilanka and Singapore and were staying in the hostels. They had divided the 200 students belonging to the 'Maths Group' (Maths, Physics and Chemistry combo) into two batches, 'A' and 'B', each having 100 students. We were supposed to go for an engineering degree or for Physics or Chemistry degrees. I belonged to the 'B' batch. On the first day, I felt lost in the atmosphere of 100 students yelling 'Good Morning Miss' at the start of every class and held fast to the company of the girls from 'our school'. Some of my friends had been allotted to the 'A' batch and so I was forced to make new friends from the 'B' batch who were not so close to me in my high school days.
Initially, we were enjoying the freedom of not paying attention to the teacher as were not admonished for looking out of the window like we were in our high school and purposely gazed outside at the big trees in the campus (even though the limited scenery grew boring in minutes!) Some of the hostelers would gobble up the lunch boxes of the day scholars like me, sitting in the back benches. Then we came to know that the lecturers were just doing their duty (They could not be blamed if they could not manage to remember most of the 100 students' names in the ten months we had!)and not as interested in making us understand the lessons and get good marks as our devoted teachers of the high school! We had to look out for our own marks and we got scared of failing every course if we did not pay attention in the classes. Now we realized the value of our high school teachers who made us pay attention in the classes and who were till then 'dragons' giving out punishments like 'standing on the benches' or standing outside the classrooms', if we so much as glanced outside during classes!
For the first time we were responsible for the result of our own actions and attitudes. We felt grown-up within a few weeks of classes! But we sure enjoyed acting all 'grown up college girls' in front of our high school juniors who were lugging around huge school bags. So, even if the books needed for all the five hours of classes for our course could have filled a school bag easily, we insissted in carrying them stached in our hands, resting against our bodies-often dropping them in a very 'uncool' manner!
The best point of this system was that we were only 16 years of age when we entered into 'college', free from our strict teachers, school uniforms, a long day consisting of 9-5 school hours and a compulsory attendance for all the classes. The worst point was that we had to cram what the +2 students study in two years in the available ten months of classes excluding the summer vacation. So we had very little time to enjoy our new-found freedom. But we made the most of our 'college girl' status and walked with our noses high up in the air whenever we passed our erstwhile juniors of the High School which was in the same campus as our college.
These educational institutions are located in a a sprawling multi-acre campus in a big town, a district capital (now a corporation) and the people were mostly middle class, not super rich as in the state's capital. Our college was one of the best known institutions in the state, exclusively devoted to women's education. It had Masters courses for Physics and Chemistry which even many men's colleges didn't possess. B.Com was introduced in our women's college, in the early seventies, our college being a pioneer in such things always. Till then we had only 'B.A'.s and 'B.Sc' s.
Our college was (and is) steeped in the traditions of our Tamil culture and arts and so had a degree course which conferred a 'B.A.' degree in Carnatic Music! A very strict dress code was enforced and students had to wear only sarees. The 'P.U.C' (Pre-University Course) class to which we belonged was the only exception as we had all completed only 16 years and not so adept in carrying off wearing a saree with aplomb! So we were allowed to wear 'Half-sarees'. We had so much grouse against the management as we all looked very 'country style' whereas the town's other women's college run by nuns allowed their students to wear such 'modern' dresses as salwar-kameez and chudidhars! They could even wear long skirts and blouses as their own High School in their campus had skirts and blouses as their uniforms. We used to envy them their smart uniform of blue skirt and white blouses, while we were in High School (clad in uniform green-coloured half-sarees) and now we were burning with envy at the 'cool' salwar kameez and other North Indian or western dresses their students sported!
Anyway wearing colours other than the green colour of our High School was a welcome change for us. We enjoyed wearing 'colour' dresses every day instead of the boring uniform. But it was no fun once we had shown off all the sets of half-sarees we possessed! We had to wait for the new dresses we usually received for our birthdays or some festivals like Pongal or Deepavali.
My classmates were mostly from my own 11th standard class of the high school and so we didn't feel as nervous as some of my new classmates who had come from other schools or other towns or even from other countries such as Malaysia, Srilanka and Singapore and were staying in the hostels. They had divided the 200 students belonging to the 'Maths Group' (Maths, Physics and Chemistry combo) into two batches, 'A' and 'B', each having 100 students. We were supposed to go for an engineering degree or for Physics or Chemistry degrees. I belonged to the 'B' batch. On the first day, I felt lost in the atmosphere of 100 students yelling 'Good Morning Miss' at the start of every class and held fast to the company of the girls from 'our school'. Some of my friends had been allotted to the 'A' batch and so I was forced to make new friends from the 'B' batch who were not so close to me in my high school days.
Initially, we were enjoying the freedom of not paying attention to the teacher as were not admonished for looking out of the window like we were in our high school and purposely gazed outside at the big trees in the campus (even though the limited scenery grew boring in minutes!) Some of the hostelers would gobble up the lunch boxes of the day scholars like me, sitting in the back benches. Then we came to know that the lecturers were just doing their duty (They could not be blamed if they could not manage to remember most of the 100 students' names in the ten months we had!)and not as interested in making us understand the lessons and get good marks as our devoted teachers of the high school! We had to look out for our own marks and we got scared of failing every course if we did not pay attention in the classes. Now we realized the value of our high school teachers who made us pay attention in the classes and who were till then 'dragons' giving out punishments like 'standing on the benches' or standing outside the classrooms', if we so much as glanced outside during classes!
For the first time we were responsible for the result of our own actions and attitudes. We felt grown-up within a few weeks of classes! But we sure enjoyed acting all 'grown up college girls' in front of our high school juniors who were lugging around huge school bags. So, even if the books needed for all the five hours of classes for our course could have filled a school bag easily, we insissted in carrying them stached in our hands, resting against our bodies-often dropping them in a very 'uncool' manner!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Movie Time!
When we were small children, the only entertainment available was either the radio at home or the movies at the theatres. Our parents were very strict in choosing the movies for us to watch. They never missed most of the movies being screened in whichever town we were residing in at that time. But the films had to pass certain criteria before we could be taken to them. The usual process was that my parents would watch the movies first. If the movies were a) decent family entertainment or b) comedies with no vulgar double entendres or C) silver jubilee hits (i.e., they would have crossed a 100 days of screening) or D) 'Bhakthi'-religious movies.
So we got to watch most of Shivaji Ganesan's movies (category 'a') though they were mostly weepy and we kids didn't like them so much then!), most good comedies under category 'b'(Kadhalikka Neramillai, Baama Vijayam etc.,), a few of MGR's hit movies, thrillers like 'Adhey kangal' and movies like 'Kuzhndhaiyum Deivamum' (category C) and movies like 'Thiruvilaiyadal', Thiruvarutselvar and 'Annai Velanganni' (Category C) or educational films like 'Tokyo Olympiad', 'Hatari' etc., (Category E).
Category C would throw up some odd movies of MGR which we were not allowed to watch most of the time on account of their being 'romantic' movies unsuitable to young eyes! So we got to watch 'Enga Vettu Pillai' and 'Ayirathil Oruvan under this category. Once I remember us being sent to the theatre to watch the 'Ulaga Thamizh Maanaadu' clippings (under educational films!) being shown at the interval of an MGR movie which had not passed the silver jubilee criteria. The minute the clipping was shown, we were forcibly removed from the theatre under squeals of protest. we wanted to watch the rest of the movie too!
Forget today's multiplexes fully airconditioned. Most of the theatres were not air-conditioned and it felt very stuffy when it was house-full. It was not a pleasant experience as it is now. The movie part was the only event looked forward to, by us children. Not to mention the smokers' contribution in spite of the 'no smoking' signs. They would light up a cigarette inside the movie hall and would go out during the song sequences to finish it, but the hateful smoke would have caused us head aches.
Once I remember my younger sister falling sick in a stuffy theatre in Trichy and we had to go out of the movie hall to take her to the doctor! I remember how I was feeling guilty that I still wished to continue watching the movie, another part of me was praying to God that nothing should happen to my sister and that I would never ever speak a harsh word to her! Of course it was only a fainting spell because of the suffocating atmosphere and she recovered in an hour.
So we got to watch most of Shivaji Ganesan's movies (category 'a') though they were mostly weepy and we kids didn't like them so much then!), most good comedies under category 'b'(Kadhalikka Neramillai, Baama Vijayam etc.,), a few of MGR's hit movies, thrillers like 'Adhey kangal' and movies like 'Kuzhndhaiyum Deivamum' (category C) and movies like 'Thiruvilaiyadal', Thiruvarutselvar and 'Annai Velanganni' (Category C) or educational films like 'Tokyo Olympiad', 'Hatari' etc., (Category E).
Category C would throw up some odd movies of MGR which we were not allowed to watch most of the time on account of their being 'romantic' movies unsuitable to young eyes! So we got to watch 'Enga Vettu Pillai' and 'Ayirathil Oruvan under this category. Once I remember us being sent to the theatre to watch the 'Ulaga Thamizh Maanaadu' clippings (under educational films!) being shown at the interval of an MGR movie which had not passed the silver jubilee criteria. The minute the clipping was shown, we were forcibly removed from the theatre under squeals of protest. we wanted to watch the rest of the movie too!
Forget today's multiplexes fully airconditioned. Most of the theatres were not air-conditioned and it felt very stuffy when it was house-full. It was not a pleasant experience as it is now. The movie part was the only event looked forward to, by us children. Not to mention the smokers' contribution in spite of the 'no smoking' signs. They would light up a cigarette inside the movie hall and would go out during the song sequences to finish it, but the hateful smoke would have caused us head aches.
Once I remember my younger sister falling sick in a stuffy theatre in Trichy and we had to go out of the movie hall to take her to the doctor! I remember how I was feeling guilty that I still wished to continue watching the movie, another part of me was praying to God that nothing should happen to my sister and that I would never ever speak a harsh word to her! Of course it was only a fainting spell because of the suffocating atmosphere and she recovered in an hour.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Of Cool Coconut Groves
My grandparents owned rice fields and coconut groves. Whenever we went to their place during our holidays, making the most of our stay there was anticipated eagerly by all of us. Full of coconut trees, mango trees and jack fruit trees, the grove was shady mostly.
Labourers would have removed all the weeds underneath the trees and hoed the dirt around the trees as the roots needed to breathe. Loose soil is necessary around the roots to let fresh air in and so this work would be done periodically and a circle would be formed around the tree to enable watering. The other parts except the circles around the trees would be filled with various weeds and grass as these would be cleaned only at longer intervals. This grove formed a perfect playground for us in our childhood.
I remember one of the old coconut trees growing almost horizontally for a length of ten feet and then upright, in an effort to find the best position to catch the rays of sun amidst the shade formed by the nearby mango tree. The mango tree in turn sported a horizontal bough, thereby providing us kids with fantastic playthings. We would sit on the horizontal boughs and the trunk of the coconut tree (though it was a bit rough compared to the mango tree's trunk) and play houses all day long.
There was a very wide well to irrigate the trees, right at the centre of the grove. The coconut palm leaves in their fronds would be left to soak in the well from time to time to make them pliable, as these leaves were used to make 'keetru' to build roofs for huts and temporary pandals. I remember the labourers' wives making brooms out of the central sticks of the left-over individual leaves, sitting on the floor, with their feet stretched out, wielding a sharp knife to remove the sticks from the leaves in a single deft move. The leftover parts all would be put out in the open and left to dry, to be used as fuel in the kitchen or for the boiler. These scenes would be seen only a few times in all our trips. If the fronds are floating on the water of the wide well, the boys would be upset as it prevented them from practising their dives and swimming in the water! But the upside was that we would be treated to the tender coconut water as the labourers could climb up the trees in seconds and pluck the coconuts and cut them for us.
The girls in the kids' group would have perched on the 'kona thennai maram' (bent coconut tree) and the branches of the mango trees and started playing already. We used to sing the popular Tamil film songs of the time very loudly, swinging our legs keeping time, as we could not be heard outside the big grove. We must have looked like little monkeys to any onlooker! Sometimes we would be fighting for the right of singing a particular song shouting, 'The song is mine, MINE!' If no amicable settlement was reached, all the claimers would be heard braying out the lyrics in many discordant notes! Silly though it might seem now, if I recollect these times even now so vividly, you can imagine how much we would have enjoyed it!
Labourers would have removed all the weeds underneath the trees and hoed the dirt around the trees as the roots needed to breathe. Loose soil is necessary around the roots to let fresh air in and so this work would be done periodically and a circle would be formed around the tree to enable watering. The other parts except the circles around the trees would be filled with various weeds and grass as these would be cleaned only at longer intervals. This grove formed a perfect playground for us in our childhood.
I remember one of the old coconut trees growing almost horizontally for a length of ten feet and then upright, in an effort to find the best position to catch the rays of sun amidst the shade formed by the nearby mango tree. The mango tree in turn sported a horizontal bough, thereby providing us kids with fantastic playthings. We would sit on the horizontal boughs and the trunk of the coconut tree (though it was a bit rough compared to the mango tree's trunk) and play houses all day long.
There was a very wide well to irrigate the trees, right at the centre of the grove. The coconut palm leaves in their fronds would be left to soak in the well from time to time to make them pliable, as these leaves were used to make 'keetru' to build roofs for huts and temporary pandals. I remember the labourers' wives making brooms out of the central sticks of the left-over individual leaves, sitting on the floor, with their feet stretched out, wielding a sharp knife to remove the sticks from the leaves in a single deft move. The leftover parts all would be put out in the open and left to dry, to be used as fuel in the kitchen or for the boiler. These scenes would be seen only a few times in all our trips. If the fronds are floating on the water of the wide well, the boys would be upset as it prevented them from practising their dives and swimming in the water! But the upside was that we would be treated to the tender coconut water as the labourers could climb up the trees in seconds and pluck the coconuts and cut them for us.
The girls in the kids' group would have perched on the 'kona thennai maram' (bent coconut tree) and the branches of the mango trees and started playing already. We used to sing the popular Tamil film songs of the time very loudly, swinging our legs keeping time, as we could not be heard outside the big grove. We must have looked like little monkeys to any onlooker! Sometimes we would be fighting for the right of singing a particular song shouting, 'The song is mine, MINE!' If no amicable settlement was reached, all the claimers would be heard braying out the lyrics in many discordant notes! Silly though it might seem now, if I recollect these times even now so vividly, you can imagine how much we would have enjoyed it!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Snake Charmer!
This is a common sight in any small town or village in India even today. A snake charmer and his assistants (his family most of the time) would start playing an Urumi melam or some such instrument(drum) in a street corner and call out to the passers-by about the impending fight between the snake in his bamboo basket and the mongoose he has at the end of a tether.
When a crowd has been collected he would stand in the middle and would entreat them to wait for the fight as the climax of his program. In the meantime, he would provide some more entertainment for his audience, he would say.
He would make his assistant (usually a small child) lie down in the centre and cover his whole body, including the face, with a blanket. Then he would start asking him some questions about the people around him.
"Boy, what is the colour of that gentleman's shirt who stands at the eastern side of our show?", he would ask and the boy would reply with the right answer! The mostly gullible audience would be amazed how the blindfolded boy could answer all the questions correctly, but for the blessing of the divine mother-goddess Kali or Angalaparameswari whose disciple the snake charmer proclaims himself to be! Suitably impressed with the question and answer session, the audience would be ready to accept the fortune-telling session that follows and would part with the few coins that was the fees. If the business was dull and no coins were forthcoming, the man would start frightening the more gullible section of the audience with dire predictions which would always end, "You would die a horrible death vomitting blood, if you don't part with the money which I can see with my third eye, hidden in your pocket!"
A few illiterate villagers and small children would fall prey to such admonitions and would part with their money, having become wiser enough not to stand as part of the audeience the next time around! Of course the snake and mongoose would never fight as the man would wind up everything when he had collected some money! He would mumble something about the snake being hungry or tired or sleepy, to the few brave souls who asked him about it!
I remember how my friend and myself, both nine years old at that time, stood at the edge of the crowd in such a show. It was during our lunch break from the small town school in which we were studying. The fact was that we had a Twenty Five paise coin in our possession (1/4 of a rupee). The music teacher had given it to us asking us to get her some coffee from the nearby teashop as she had a terrible headache(perhaps from our attempts to sing in her class!) Attracted by the drum beats we were tempted to watch the show and at the end of it, we were shocked to hear the terrible fate awaiting us if we did not part with the money! We managed to discuss the issue between us and convince ourselves that the coin was the teacher's and in no way would it provoke the curse. But we had quite a few nightmares that week!
When a crowd has been collected he would stand in the middle and would entreat them to wait for the fight as the climax of his program. In the meantime, he would provide some more entertainment for his audience, he would say.
He would make his assistant (usually a small child) lie down in the centre and cover his whole body, including the face, with a blanket. Then he would start asking him some questions about the people around him.
"Boy, what is the colour of that gentleman's shirt who stands at the eastern side of our show?", he would ask and the boy would reply with the right answer! The mostly gullible audience would be amazed how the blindfolded boy could answer all the questions correctly, but for the blessing of the divine mother-goddess Kali or Angalaparameswari whose disciple the snake charmer proclaims himself to be! Suitably impressed with the question and answer session, the audience would be ready to accept the fortune-telling session that follows and would part with the few coins that was the fees. If the business was dull and no coins were forthcoming, the man would start frightening the more gullible section of the audience with dire predictions which would always end, "You would die a horrible death vomitting blood, if you don't part with the money which I can see with my third eye, hidden in your pocket!"
A few illiterate villagers and small children would fall prey to such admonitions and would part with their money, having become wiser enough not to stand as part of the audeience the next time around! Of course the snake and mongoose would never fight as the man would wind up everything when he had collected some money! He would mumble something about the snake being hungry or tired or sleepy, to the few brave souls who asked him about it!
I remember how my friend and myself, both nine years old at that time, stood at the edge of the crowd in such a show. It was during our lunch break from the small town school in which we were studying. The fact was that we had a Twenty Five paise coin in our possession (1/4 of a rupee). The music teacher had given it to us asking us to get her some coffee from the nearby teashop as she had a terrible headache(perhaps from our attempts to sing in her class!) Attracted by the drum beats we were tempted to watch the show and at the end of it, we were shocked to hear the terrible fate awaiting us if we did not part with the money! We managed to discuss the issue between us and convince ourselves that the coin was the teacher's and in no way would it provoke the curse. But we had quite a few nightmares that week!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Oil bath!
All my stories so far have been of the playtime and travelling we enjoyed as small kids. But there was the routine life we had as school going children in our home, under the guidance of our parents. Taking oil bath was one routine which is still unforgettable just because it was a very unpleasant experience for us!
After a school week, the weekend was a welcome change from our full day of studies. But one aspect of our weekend routine used to frighten us so much that we hated getting up on Sundays. Saturdays were spent on playing and finishing our homework but Sundays were the days when my mom insisted that we had our oil baths. It is the tradition that girls have their oil baths on Fridays and boys have theirs on Saturdays. Since we had to attend school on Fridays, we girls had to undergo the ordeal of the oil bath on Sundays.
We had to wrap a towel around our bodies and stand in the open under the morning sun. Sesame oil would be poured on our head and our hair would be dripping with oil. When the oil was massaged onto the scalp, my mother would be telling us to take care that no part was left oil-free. She would have an idiomatic phrase for every part; for example, if we left out the bottom half of our head, it would spell doom for the health of our brothers, if the top was left out it would bring on poverty etc., which would prick our conscience enough not to leave any part of our head without oil!
Then came the worst part. Oil would be poured into our eyes, nose and ears amidst shrieks of protest. We had to apply oil on our bodies too. Then we all took turns one by one, to be given baths in hot water prepared and stored in big buckets nearby. The rest of us had to stand in the sun absorbing the light as it was said to be beneficial for our health. My mother and her assistant (maidservant, usually) would perform the rituals every Sunday morning.
First kid in the line had to sit on a low stool. Then the shikakai powder (home made, with many herbal ingredients added) would be made into a paste and massaged onto our head and hair. It was a great feat to escape from the shikakai powder accidentally going into our eyes, though we had to sit with our eyes closed to avoid that! Of course we would like to take a peek at the going-on every now and then! As a result, most of the kids would have reddened eyes at the end of the bathing session. It seemed to take forever to remove every trace of oil from our hair. Once my mother was satisfied she would send the child to the maid to wash off the herbal powder, soap our bodies and pour hot water, finishing our baths, pulling the next kid towards her for her turn.
Once the bath was over, we would be rolled in a towel and asked to bind our hair with an absorbent cotton towel. With eyes smarting and the whole body feeling spent after all the massage, we would dress ourselves and dry our hair in the incense smoke, prepared specially for drying our hair. Then we had to wait in line for the next step.
A mixture of cumin seeds and garlic pods would be crushed with a little salt and made into a drink and we all had to take a little of it to ward off cold and to improve our digestion. This was the last straw and we would be saying ‘yuck’ and trying to run off into various corners of our house to avoid the spicy home made medicine! After our baths, we would be given hot soup by mid morning to help us regain all our lost energy. We would all feel sleepy by the time the ordeal was over!
Oil for bath:
Heat 1/2 cup sesame oil with 6 cloves of garlic. When garlic is brown, take it off the heat. Cool and apply it on scalp when warm, with a small ball of cotton. Cover the whole of scalp and let it soak for half an hour. Wash it off with herbal soapnut powder or with shampoo.
Another oil recipe:
Sesame oil 250 gm
castor oil 100 gm
Neem oil 100 gm.
Mix all together and use for oil bath. This oil helps keep your hair grow thick and dark, without dandruff.
Herbal shampoo powder:
Powder the following finely;
1 kg Shikakai (soap nut)
1/2 kg methi
100 gm whole tur dal 100 gm
100 gm mustard
Use a tbsp mixed with half cup water every time you wash your hair. It is good for even sinusitis patients.
100 gm mustard
After a school week, the weekend was a welcome change from our full day of studies. But one aspect of our weekend routine used to frighten us so much that we hated getting up on Sundays. Saturdays were spent on playing and finishing our homework but Sundays were the days when my mom insisted that we had our oil baths. It is the tradition that girls have their oil baths on Fridays and boys have theirs on Saturdays. Since we had to attend school on Fridays, we girls had to undergo the ordeal of the oil bath on Sundays.
We had to wrap a towel around our bodies and stand in the open under the morning sun. Sesame oil would be poured on our head and our hair would be dripping with oil. When the oil was massaged onto the scalp, my mother would be telling us to take care that no part was left oil-free. She would have an idiomatic phrase for every part; for example, if we left out the bottom half of our head, it would spell doom for the health of our brothers, if the top was left out it would bring on poverty etc., which would prick our conscience enough not to leave any part of our head without oil!
Then came the worst part. Oil would be poured into our eyes, nose and ears amidst shrieks of protest. We had to apply oil on our bodies too. Then we all took turns one by one, to be given baths in hot water prepared and stored in big buckets nearby. The rest of us had to stand in the sun absorbing the light as it was said to be beneficial for our health. My mother and her assistant (maidservant, usually) would perform the rituals every Sunday morning.
First kid in the line had to sit on a low stool. Then the shikakai powder (home made, with many herbal ingredients added) would be made into a paste and massaged onto our head and hair. It was a great feat to escape from the shikakai powder accidentally going into our eyes, though we had to sit with our eyes closed to avoid that! Of course we would like to take a peek at the going-on every now and then! As a result, most of the kids would have reddened eyes at the end of the bathing session. It seemed to take forever to remove every trace of oil from our hair. Once my mother was satisfied she would send the child to the maid to wash off the herbal powder, soap our bodies and pour hot water, finishing our baths, pulling the next kid towards her for her turn.
Once the bath was over, we would be rolled in a towel and asked to bind our hair with an absorbent cotton towel. With eyes smarting and the whole body feeling spent after all the massage, we would dress ourselves and dry our hair in the incense smoke, prepared specially for drying our hair. Then we had to wait in line for the next step.
A mixture of cumin seeds and garlic pods would be crushed with a little salt and made into a drink and we all had to take a little of it to ward off cold and to improve our digestion. This was the last straw and we would be saying ‘yuck’ and trying to run off into various corners of our house to avoid the spicy home made medicine! After our baths, we would be given hot soup by mid morning to help us regain all our lost energy. We would all feel sleepy by the time the ordeal was over!
Oil for bath:
Heat 1/2 cup sesame oil with 6 cloves of garlic. When garlic is brown, take it off the heat. Cool and apply it on scalp when warm, with a small ball of cotton. Cover the whole of scalp and let it soak for half an hour. Wash it off with herbal soapnut powder or with shampoo.
Another oil recipe:
Sesame oil 250 gm
castor oil 100 gm
Neem oil 100 gm.
Mix all together and use for oil bath. This oil helps keep your hair grow thick and dark, without dandruff.
Herbal shampoo powder:
Powder the following finely;
1 kg Shikakai (soap nut)
1/2 kg methi
100 gm whole tur dal 100 gm
100 gm mustard
Use a tbsp mixed with half cup water every time you wash your hair. It is good for even sinusitis patients.
100 gm mustard
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