Dear
you think that with all this I should be ok.
Good!
But I do not feel so
There is more which is involved
You know that I can't today be in my home of my .. what should i say
ancestral home? somebody else's
it is not my own
nor it was my own any time
where I am rooted in
through the eastern windows of which,
I saw the teaks and palms dancing
when 'Edavapathi ' flew from west
the dampness of the cot near Umma's
where I sat hearing her tales of benevolence
not to my Baapa nor her kids even we grand-kids ..
but the neighbors who visit her often and the servant girls at home
the wooden window plates would close with a bang
the 'thoovanam'-drops of rain driven into the house by wind
falling on me and the bed-wrap
the sweat darkened-karimban thalliya-chair
where he sat
he was a despot and niggardly,
his children punned recalling their childhood
of inadequacy in spite of affluence
but for me, he gave me eyes through which
I heard about the world around and the world left behind
of Rambuttan fuits, the days during second war
of Madras and Nagappatinam and the ships which set sail from there
language in which people asked "Saaya nama appa nama "
of how he met Netaji in that city state
of the kings and people of yore
the one who bought me a frooti. when I cried.which his children would have yearned for
and bought guavas from the far away city for the grand-kids(NRI) visiting at home
the one whose features , every son wished in his child
the smell of the "athar" touched cotton he gave me before the Eid
you smiled inside you(did not you?) when I danced before you all then
Baapa. where else I can find you today than in that old chair in the Verandah
the table on which you read Quran and did Namaz and wrote the (notorious) accounts
the diary which the scion never parted with me,
where I know are the deepest secrets on the births and deaths of your kids and grand-kids
stay in those petite handwriting
the cot with mosquito curtains and the pillow below which you kept the torch-light, hidden
you never know what I lost when you "Rooh" left behind that crowded room in "Shankers"
when I left behind you in the train to Madras
not for an extra-pie or inheritance
which the gullible and simple Umma can't understand
for whom everything is the same
but once when it was yours , there was life in my home,,
even when you complained of the long list of ailments you have
after all Vaapicha says I am the one who inherited "hypochondria" from you
it was yours .. so that it was ours
the home into which my uncles brought us new aunts (even my mom)
who conspired to break the home , the joint- whatever it was
because it was never theirs..
after all they were women from 'better' families
Baapa you only told.... that proverb about gold and women
the home from which my aunts left with tears
the uncles who came with items ought with the oil-Riyals
when their luggages were open in the "Thekke Pura"
garments, perfumes , toffees, toys, ...
not for their "nuclear"unit
but for all of us- the ritual of 'Petti pottikkal"
better buy them from duty paid shop today
The Thekke Pura to which Puthiyappila and Puthiya Pennu entered
replacing the earlier/ latest reigning newly weds
some took away even the fan they brought with
The first home here I , as a kid , pissed , drooled, rolled on the floor and danced
I got astonished at the number of mothers , I had
one to suckle, one to feed and one to tell stories when I sit next to the kalladuppu
where I learnt the skill of cooking
later I cooked with my 'child-wife' on the sand below the guava with chiratta and brought out the best mannappams I could have
The Tapiaco field , with big holes , housing the pest-
mice- Baapa's rival
Did I feel happy when I saw Baapa dipping the 'Elipathayam'
in the pond, with air bubbles coming up?
The mango tree under which , led by my great Ithatha ,
we sat together, making instant pickles of the "Thambori" Mangoes ,
with hot chilly powder, salt and coconut oil
Maalu knows how good I prepared it later
The Tamarind which rained even after the monsoons
you killed it though
The Ambazham which graced our north side
the pickles we made on that Onam you remember
you even killed it
for the worthless timber from a shriveled tree
Now the Egg-fruit which stays,,
hope i will not hear its obituary
the cashew whose nuts we stole and sold..
Baapa do not know this
the cement-ground we fell on the east-side
where we fell and created really black knees
Swamis' room nearby, -
the tales of that Arogiya Swami,
who came from beyond the ghats and
became a son for my Umma as it should be ,
after all all servants were her kids
and disappeared without even a letter
The "Erithil" - for the Cattle
where the Bufflaoes and Ox and innumerable cows ruminated
and lived in the mess of straw and the precious cowdung
Baapa you never told us how much is innumerable
The smell of the urine of Palm-civet which played on the ceiling beneath the tiled roof
You all tell me that I am insensible
I am Ooruthendi- for having prolonged the stays there
why did I fight every year for a longer stay there?
and why does even after knowing everything,
I crave for being back there?
But I did not realize that it was not my own then
even today I do not
after all ownership is the criterion
but you can't prevent me from owning my memories though
***
Shankers- a hospital in Quilon, Kerala
Erithil- cattle shed
Baapa-Grandpa(not universal- specific to my family)
Umma-Grandma(not universal)
Vaapicha- Father
Ooruthendi- a wandering beggar
Edavapathi- South west monsoons
thoovanam-rain drops which fly in with wind
Rambuttan- a fruit popular in Malay
Saaya nama appa nama- What is your name in Malaya, or some dialect of it
athar- perfume (Arabic)
Rooh- Soul (Arabic)
Thekke Pura- room at the southern side
Petti pottikkal - opening a box
Puthiyappila- Newly wed groom
Puthiya Pennu - newly wed bride
kalladuppu- traditional chulha
chiratta-coconut shell
Mannappam- 'dishes' made by children out of soil
Elipathayam-a kind of rat trap
'Ithatha- eldest sister
Thambori- a variety of mango
Ambazham-hog plum tree
Egg-fruit -a rare tropical fruit tree
