(left to right): Long way home; the temple entrance, the temple interiors; the nadumittam; pennamma chechi and me...home.
now, memories remain. and occassional visits.
brahmamangalam. vaikom district. kerala.
the ancestral home is taking new shape. brand new tiles form the roof. new red oxide on the floor. the nadumittam (central courtyard inside the home) stays. and so does achamma's secret room under the pssst.
pennamma chechi is still there. i hug her tight. she used to be my lifeguard everytime i jumped into the pond, and many moons ago, she even looked over my dad's swimming experiments in the pond. she is not a blood-relative, but she is family.
"your teeth has no hope, why can't you ditch that tobacco?" i cajole her. "after all these years? podi," she laughs. "where's your better-half? i couldn't meet him the last time," she whispers to me. she meets him and blushes. "malayalam arriyio?" she asks me, not him. "korrachu...he does understand though," i tell her. "ahh...that's enough. it's your duty to learn his speech." i give her a pursed-lip look, and she grins back.
many summers ago, school holidays in in my native kerala. there was no television, no video games, and certainly not even the idea of something called the internet. what made those days so memorable then? red ripe mulberry, squeezy mangoes, baskets of jackfruit, boat rides to vaikom, morning-afternoon-and evening swims in the pond in front of the home and behind it, and how-to-make-handicrafts-from-different-types-of-leaves lessons from appappan (= my grandfather). achamma was always the strict one. she had 12 grandchildren of all ages and moods, all sizes and varying taste buds. how she managed to keep us all satiated, i still don't know.
now, all that remains just a pretty memory, not just for me, but for them too. i wonder how many pennamma chechis and achammas are sitting by the verandahs in their homes, talking about that one's tantrum days, and this one's dysentery days. go hug them if you know them.
it won't just soothe your souls, but even theirs. :)
now, memories remain. and occassional visits.
brahmamangalam. vaikom district. kerala.
the ancestral home is taking new shape. brand new tiles form the roof. new red oxide on the floor. the nadumittam (central courtyard inside the home) stays. and so does achamma's secret room under the pssst.
pennamma chechi is still there. i hug her tight. she used to be my lifeguard everytime i jumped into the pond, and many moons ago, she even looked over my dad's swimming experiments in the pond. she is not a blood-relative, but she is family.
"your teeth has no hope, why can't you ditch that tobacco?" i cajole her. "after all these years? podi," she laughs. "where's your better-half? i couldn't meet him the last time," she whispers to me. she meets him and blushes. "malayalam arriyio?" she asks me, not him. "korrachu...he does understand though," i tell her. "ahh...that's enough. it's your duty to learn his speech." i give her a pursed-lip look, and she grins back.
many summers ago, school holidays in in my native kerala. there was no television, no video games, and certainly not even the idea of something called the internet. what made those days so memorable then? red ripe mulberry, squeezy mangoes, baskets of jackfruit, boat rides to vaikom, morning-afternoon-and evening swims in the pond in front of the home and behind it, and how-to-make-handicrafts-from-different-types-of-leaves lessons from appappan (= my grandfather). achamma was always the strict one. she had 12 grandchildren of all ages and moods, all sizes and varying taste buds. how she managed to keep us all satiated, i still don't know.
now, all that remains just a pretty memory, not just for me, but for them too. i wonder how many pennamma chechis and achammas are sitting by the verandahs in their homes, talking about that one's tantrum days, and this one's dysentery days. go hug them if you know them.
it won't just soothe your souls, but even theirs. :)
