Category: A02 — SEQUELS

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The smell of the soil – chapter 07

A road in Moncombu. Buses ply to changanchery on this road


After Swamy’s pooja lasting for an hour, Seshu showed mami how to operate the dish washer, washing machine, coffee percolator and other appliances.
“Despite Ramya’s instruction not to handle these devises, I want to you learn the usage, so that you need not depend on her for minor kitchen activities.” He said to her. ” More over, will you allow her to cook, when she is on her monthly menstrual periods?”
” Siva, Siva-never” she replied, closing her ears with her palms,
  .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                refusing to hear a word more on that topic.
“To stand on your own legs, is the first thing you should learn in this country, because the youngsters are fully engaged during day time and even at night, they might have some pending office work to complete at home” .
 Seshu said, entering the main hall and after all were seated.”  In India, while driving though a city or village , you can stop your car and ask for the route. Here in highways, you have to go by your road map or mechanical guide, as there will be none on the road , to show you the way.  Moreover, you cannot stop the vehicle at seventy miles speed, anywhere and every where you like.  At the most, you can enquire in a gas station, that is our petrol bunk. Without knowing driving, you are a bird with no wings. Men and women in their eighties and nineties  drive their own vehicles, shop in malls, collect their provisions and load in their vehicle. None with a bamboo basket on his head carrying your load will be behind to help you, as we see in our towns. The shopping complex is away from the apartments and as you do in our place, you cannot walk down to buy milk or vegetables, putting a thorthumundu, towel on your shoulder. And no hawkers with push carts in front of your house. you cannot  stop a taxi or auto as we do in our towns, as there are no autos or cabs on the road . In the busy New York city taxis ply and you can hire them on the spot.  public transport is available freely there, and in most of the other cities, office goers have to use only their own cars.”
“Oh, athu periya budhimuttachae- it is really difficult, then”  remarked Swamy.
” Appo sayantharam denam kovilukku poka sathikkathu- I can’t go to temple every evening.” lamented Mami, with a gloomy face.
” I cannot go out even for a walk as the weather is bad ” Swami worried, “does it mean that whole day, we sit inside the house looking at each other’s face”
“Why not? your faces have not lost their charm yet” Seshu chuckled. “I will teach you to operate the computer. you both can learn within a few days. That devise is my constant companion. You can read your newspaper, hear music and send mails. By four,  Swan will be here with his mom. Then it is velai and pooram-festival here.”
“Inke jasthi thaangathu- we may not stay long here,”  remarked mami.
” You will continue to stay because this is your life-center, where your son and his family are . You will be prepared to sacrifice, as I am doing, all your other favorites  and would prefer to stay here . In due course, your longing for the smell of your soil will vanish.”  Seshu remarked, a naughty smile illumining his face.”
The couple delved into deep thoughts and after a while, Swamy asked, ” Seshu, what will you do, in a situation where you physical facilities neither permit you to travel to USA or make unsafe to live alone in our village.?
“Vrudhasramam- home for the aged. I have already decided on that” Seshu was categorical in his statement.
“There, at least some one will lift you up if you slip on the floor or face a stroke, and take you for medical assistance. At your own home , if you fall on the ground,  your wife cannot lift you and if she falls, you cannot lift her.  You may come out and shout for help and someone might come but no vehicle will be available or the hospitals might be ill equipped. Moreover, in the home for the aged, all are aged and therefore, you have many things to share, including your regrets of the past, retardation of the present and the uncertainty of the future.”
“What is there to he uncertain?” asked Swamy and chuckled.
“That is true,” Seshu agreed, ” anyway, it is too early for you to think about that, as you are now OK and Ramu will never allow you to go to Vrudhasramam”.
“You are right mama, I will never admit them in the Home for the aged”, Ramu, who entered, overhearing the conversation, from the kitchen side door, after parking his vehicle, said.  ” I will transport them here somehow every six months, obtain green cards so that they can live here indefinitely and go with us to India occasionally. And if they insist on staying at our native village, I will provide enough support, by hiring people at whatever be the cost. If that too doesn’t work, we will resign our jobs here, work in some cities in India and keep our parents with us.”
His parents were so proud of Ramu and tears swelled in their eyes.
” Ramu,  You are a worthy son and we are all proud of you”  Seshu, shook Ramu’s hand in appreciation and then without losing his composure, added, ” remember, it will be a Herculean task for you to act as you desire, as there is a third party in the game. Your little son, whom you would prefer to be educated here. Anyway, let us not worry about that now.
In my case, I have made up my mind, whatever be the objection from my son that my last resort will be the home for the aged, where I can breathe my last, smelling  the earth, which gave birth to me and my ancestors and my leftover can mix with that soil. I do not want my son or his wife or child make any sacrifice for me.”
“So, the smell of the soil is haunting you too !” Ramu asked smiling, and opened the back  door.” OK, take care, I was passing this way and just walked in to see, how you are doing “
“Chappittuttu poda , Ramu-eat food and go” requested his mom.
” No time now, mom.” In a few seconds, the crunching noise of the garage shutters rolling down, was heard.
At four, when Swan returned along with his mother, rushed to his room and made sure that all his cars were in tact.
“Old people are nice, no doubt, but that doesn’t mean that I can trust them with my cars,” he mused and then, in a flash, he was with them, holding their hands and commanding, ” come on, I will take you to the  restroom.”
Children keep up their words though they do not compromise on their toys.
Comments:
I had ample time  this morning when I went thru ‘ the smell of the oil chapter7 and8
and the flow of language is like a lullaby. What you have described is verbatim is
the true state of life in U.S.A How do you find time to thatch the flowers into fragrant
strands which do not wilt for a very long time. One story is entirely different from the
other. You do not employ the situations conceptualised in new stories. You are
highly imaginative and thinking.
Where are you now? in Hyderabad? or in U.S.A?
anyway I am one of your ardent fans.keep writing.
with best wishes
pc ramabadran


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The smell of the soil – Chapter 06

The next day being a working day, Ramya got up at six, had her shower, lighted the lamp before the deities, spent a minute or two in silent prayer and was ready in the kitchen to attend the morning chores. Coffee with breakfast was served to the youngsters, who awoke at 6.30, soon after they finished their shower and dressed up for office. Three lunch packets for the office goers, a small packet for the kid and lunch with normal dishes the elders prefer, were also ready, by seven. Then, she herself dressed up for office and woke up the kid, gave him a shower and by eight all the youngsters were ready to leave for work and the kid to be dropped in the pre-schhol, on the way to Ramya’s workplace.
“How swiftly and efficiently this girl works!” wondered the elder couple, though they were sad that the tender -age kid,  had to be woken up so early and sent to school.
“This is the age for him to sleep” commented in a sad tone, his grand pa. “If not now, when will he sleep ?” the same opinion the grand ma expressed in different words.
“These are common here,” consoled their friend, ” life starts early here; you will get used to it in a few days. In fact, it is good that children are practiced to wake up early and persuaded to sleep early”
“Why persuasion ?” chided Swamy, still unhappy that Swan was denied his due morning slumber.” They will automatically slide into sleep, when they are woken up so early in the morning. Did you send your child to school before he was five .?” He asked his friend.
“I didn’t and you too didn’t because they grew in a village in India” replied his friend .”If we were in Delhi or any other metropolitan city, we too would have woken up our kids by 6 or 7 in the mroning and sent to school before 8.0. And Swamy, Swan goes to play there and he enjoys that; he also gets a nap of an hour or two. There is no need for you to worry and keep your face so grim and puffy ?”
“Will they beat the kid ?” inquired the grand ma, the worry now trans-placed to her face.
“Not only the teachers, even the parents cannot slap or ill treat children here” Seshu assured. The two shrunken old faces   glistened.
” So, seniors!”  Ramu greeted the elders while leaving for his work along with Cheenu, and gave some instructions.
” Do not open the main door, come what may. Our contact numbers are neatly pasted on the wall of the fridge and call us, if needed. No need to answer commercial calls  and no need to worry, if you are unable to follow the pronunciation. Don’t venture a  stroll outside.
 Ramya or me will keep calling you once or twice.”
“Why did he say, ‘don’t open the door, come what may?’ Inquired Swamy, ” will someone enter and shoot us with a pistol, as we see in pictures ?”
”That possibility is not there in this area, which is safe .” replied Seshu. “The inside temperature is regulated by a mechanical device, which will get upset if the door is opened. More over, the cold breeze will enter in and make you uncomfortable”
“If some one wants to come in or we wanted to go and say hello to the neighbors?”
“No chance for both” Seshu clarified again with a smile sailing through his face, “none comes without prior notice unlike our place, where people going for a stroll enter, enquire welfare and enjoy a cup of hot coffee from manni’s hands or a pan-chew from your casket. Even, we came yesterday with prior notice. The neighbors are strangers for you and you cannot knock their door and when they show their face, say ‘hello’ or ask, ‘how many children you have’ ? ‘”
“Amma, you have to prepare only rice for neivediam for Appa’s Sivapoojai. I have told you how to use the rice cooker and oven and don’t light the lamp or stove.” Ramya’s instructions followed. “The lamp is already lit and it will last till evening. No need to wash any vessel, leave them in the sink. I will switch on the  dishwasher, in the evening. No need to switch on the washing machine too, just leave the soiled clothes in the basket.”
She, then  asked Swam to hug the seniors and say ‘bye’, which the kid did with elegance and love. Then , on his own, he was about to fall at the feet of his grand parents when they stopped him,  satisfaction surging from their heart that the kid was trained to follow the traditional path of respecting the elders.
“Thatha, you can take any car you want, and play.” Swan gave permission, then paused for a moment and suddenly realized that he was too liberal , came back, turned towards both the grand parents and suggested,”You take one car, the blue one and give thathi, the red one” After taking a few steps towards the exit, he returned again and looking sympathetically at Seshu, suggested, ” thatha, you too take one car, any color you like “
“Thanks ra Kanna” All the three elders attempted to hug the child but he vanished like a lightning .
” I will pick up Swan from his school, on my way back from the office and will be here by four.” Ramya told the elders, while closing the car windows after occupying the driver’s seat. ” your sons will not be back before seven”
” Ithu enna vesham da Seshu ? ” What type of dress is Ramya wearing, ?” mused swamy, alarmed at the dress of his daughter in law, after her left.
“This is how the working women dress up,” Seshu explained, “there is a dress code for every thing here. Wait for summer,you will see how men and women don,  to expose their body and not to cover it. Summer is a festival and they want to enjoy every ray, when the sun is not harsh.”
“Maha mosam” commented mami, “can’t Ramya wear a sari and go to work ?”
“Manni, that is not done; Sari is not a convenient wear to drive the vehicle or move freely up and down the elevators and escalators. More over, that is not an accepted wear in most of the offices. Do you know that the ladies here do not even use hair oil, as the customers and co workers do not like pungent smell ?”
“Pottu illai, poo illai, valai illai” Mami complained that Ramya was not wearing bangles and her head and forehead are barren.
“Mami, pottum poovaum vetchukkindu inke velilae ponal, ellarum avalaithan paruppal -if she goes out with all those usual adorations of women in India, everyone in the street and office will be staring at your daughter in law.Will you like it? ” asked Seshu.
“Vaideeka kudumbham” lamented the couple in unison, ” Viswanatha khanapatikal pon, Swaminatha sastrigal mattuppon!- daughter and daughter in law of Vedic pandits . How shameful!”
“How is your daughter in law ?” Sundaram wanted to know, “does she too don jeans and shirt, or whatever you
call   it ?”‘
“All working women are like that, Sundu” — clarified Seshu, bringing some brightness on the faces of the couple.
The telephone rang and Swamy picked it up. ” Appa,  Ramya here. I just dropped Swan in the class and he wanted  to tell  you that you can play with any number of cars . He also liberally allows you to use other toys too, if you like them. One more instruction from him- ‘vizathunkol -don’t slip on the restroom floor, as Appa was warning you yesterday. I will come and hold your hand as I did  and till then, don’t enter there’.”
The old couple pushed away in a corner, all their adverse remarks on their daughter in law’s attire  and enjoyed the affection, kind treatment and generosity of their grand son, while their eyes swelled. Even a thousand dollar cheque form their son would not have made them so happy.
Words, especially form a sincere heart and a  sweet, silken tongue of a close one , subjugate several sour feelings.
COMMENTS:
I enjoyed reading Smell of the soil chapter 7; you are highly imaginative. Words
flow like water from a falls-  pure and placid.
with best wishes
r ramabadran
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The smell of the soil – Chapter 05

Sleeping child
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter  5
“You throw away all these?” Swamy asked Ramya, surveying the stock of waste Newspaper and cardboard cartons piled up in the trash can.
” Weekly twice, all the trash accumulated in the two big wheeled -boxes are cleared by the Town Sanitation department, and  materials such as paper, tin or plastic waste, collected separately, will go for recycling.” She explained.
“You recover some money?”
“No, dad.” Ramu answered expecting some more questions from his father.” In fact, we pay some amount for clearing the waste which is included in the monthly service bill”
” Trash is generated in tons in this country” commented the old man and added with a smile,” with this much waste, I cam make sufficient money in India, to pay my electricity bill. ”
The door bell rang. Swamy was excited to receive his old friend Sundaram along with his son, Chandru, who helped Ramu to come to USA and secure a job in his office. They came to meet Ramu’s parents and spend a night or two over there. The old pals had a lot to share about their insipid past.
“While pushing the tube-deflated Hero bicycle through the street of our village, did you expect that one day you would fly over the oceans and we will meet here in this country to share our food on a posh dining table in a palatial building owned by your son,?” asked Sumdaram while Swamy raised his head and glanced at his son, when the word,’owned’ was mentioned. Ramu twinkled his eyes and nodded his head to sign, ‘don’t worry dad, one day it will become my own’.
” Sundaram, we are indebted to your son for making this possible” Swamy replied, passing on a ‘thank you’ note to Chandru, by a nod. ” All the agonies undergone by us to bring up our children, vanish like a due drop, at the sight of a sun-ray, when we see them happily settled in life.”
“Good” Sundaram agreed, ” but tell me frankly, are you able to cast completely your past, forgetting all the cuts, bruises and scratches it inflicted on you, and enjoy the new riches rightly due to you, willingly shared by your son?”
“No, Seshu ” admitted his friend,”that exactly is my problem. And I have a reason, very valid one, for that. The injuries inflicted on me by the past is not just skin-deep.  It sliced my inner self with its mighty weapon named ‘poverty’, into slices. That wound will not heal till my last breath”
” I was not from a ‘rajavamsam’ royal family ” clarified Seshu, “but I do not worry much over my past, drenched in poverty because it was not my making. I rejoice that I could come out of the dreaded dragon’s grip, though after a long spell , thanks to my son.”
“My case is not that simple, Seshu,”  Swamy said and his son mildly rebuked, “Appa, poverty is not a sin. Forget the past and enjoy the present”
“True, Ramu” Sundaram agreed, “poverty is not a sin but it can force you to commit sin, as it happened in my case. And therefore, it is not possible for me to forget the past as Seshu could.”
Every one around the dining table looked anxiously at Sundaram, worrying what sin did he commit.
“Appa, enough” Ramya took over the situation as women always do.” Enough of this talk before ‘annam’ rice. You can continue after you finish eating.
The dining hall became silent, but for the movement of vessels.
Later, when they all reassembled in the drawing room, Ramu, anxious to know what was bothering his father asked him to continue from where he had  left.
Swamy was mum for sometime, his mind wandering through the thorny path of the past.” I should have somehow managed to stay in my village till the last days of my father,” he mused, “no, it was impossible. it was impossible” He consoled himself.
“You have told me that thatha wanted to die in his ancestral house but could not, as you shifted the family to Coimbatore. That is all what we know”
“Why did you shift him in his old age?” enquired Seshu.
“Because I had no job when my old school building collapsed and it would have taken an year or more, for the management to construct a new one. My ancestral agricultural land was captured by the Land Reforms Act. I had no bank balance or any other source of revenue to lean upon.  Recommend by a student’s father, a mill owner offered me a gumastha’s job, which I accepted and decided to shift my wife and children, under unavoidable circumstances, to Pollachi. I wanted to leave my parents in the village under the care of a distant relative but my mother insisted that I should take them along with me.
“If something happens to your appa, who is here even to send a telegram to you ?” she asked .
“If something happens to me there, will your son bring my body here and convert it into ashes on the bank of our village pond, where the bodies of my great ancestors were burnt to ashes? ” enquired my father, unable to suppress his anger in leaving the house.
” ‘Appa, I assure you, nothing will happen to you in an year or so after which we will come back to our own place.” I tolld him. What I didn’t tell him was that our ancestral agricultural land had been taken away from us, lest his heart would have stopped pumping blood, at least for a short while, had he known that shocking news”.
.
“Nee Brahammavoda? Areyou the god to decide when I will die?” asked Appa, his heart still steaming .”
I was certainly not. Within a week after reaching Pollachi, Appa’s health deteriorated and he had to be put in the hospital. The total cash available with me at that time was less than one hundred rupees, after meeting the travel expenses and settling some dues in my native village. Krishnswamy Gowder, my new master had promised free rice and vegetable as a reward for the daily pooja I agreed to perform in his house and therefore, feeding the family was not a very big problem. Accomodation also was free. But cash? How to ask Gowder for an advance within a few days after taking up the job.?”
Swamy stretched his legs as if the pain in his heart was spreading to his feet. Ramu sat on the floor pressing his father’s leg seeing which, little Swan came running towards them and started pressing the other leg as if he wanted to prove that in no way, he was less considerate than than his dad. The old man, overwhelmed by the care and consideration of his progeny, combed slowly Ramu’s hair and collected his grand child, put him on his lap and started pressing the kid’s tiny, rose petal-like feet. He wanted to sing  but it got stuck at his throat. The child’s grandma came to support her husband and sang a lovely cradle song, in a low rhythmic sound and that folk song, like the small waves of the village river, moved up and down which made the kid to slip into the bliss of sleep.
The old man too, agitated over the memory of his father’s death in a most undesired place but slightly smoothened  by the song, fell into sleep.
Ramya collected the kid and took him to her bedroom and Ramu held his father’s hand and lead him to his bed.
The wife supporting her child and the husband supporting his father! How well- knit are our families, whether they are in India or abroad.!
Comments:
Top class narration.
Heart warming scene sketching.
I had no problem visualising this touching scene in my mind’s eye.
Is it only me who, reading this with an Iyer’s perspective, sees shades of R K Narayan’s Malgudi days in these stories ?
Please keep sending me my personal copy.
The same posting at our Iyer123 group gets closely packed into one long unreadable para unlike this decently spaced email to my personal email address.
Awaiting chapter 7 eagerly.
Regards
GV

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Pitchumani and his non vadama wife – Chapter 09

‘There is apparently a force in the Universe working towards order than disorder’Seshumama’s speech became confused, his face, left arm and leg got twisted.I knew that he had a paralytic stroke and in such cases, timely intervention and medical treatment are absolutely essential.
When I started the vehicle, to take him to the hospital, one “Ottappattar” (single brahmin) came from the opposite direction and though I do not believe generally in ‘sakunam’, I waited for a few minutes, went inside the house, drank a cup of water and then only started my car. I sincerely prayed that the guy who came from the opposite direction was not a brahmin but a chettiar or of any other poonal wearing caste !” stroke is a ‘brain attack’ that happens in the brain rather than in the heart”, explained,Dr.Rao.”Every minute lost, from the onset of symptoms to the emergency contact, cuts into the limited window opportunity for intervention. Longer the delay in getting the medical treatment, the more damage a stroke can do and the chances of recovery are less.”Dr.Rao admitted Seshumama in his own ward and said,” You did a good job in bringing him here in time. He will be under my direct supervision, though another expert will treat him.You all can go home and relax. The hospital will take care of his food and medicine requirement”None of us went back and in fact everyone came from home and also some friends, hearing the news.
I know that Dr Rao doesn’t like a crowd in wards. So, we all came out and after sending others home, I stayed back, seeing Vishnu Namboodiri, clad, as usual, in his ‘kasavu double’ and ‘melmundu’ and sitting under the tree, chewing pan, completely relaxed and smiling. Well built, fair skinned, pleasant mannered and jovial, Namboodiripad is, in looks and character, opposite to the dark and dry like a stick, ill mannered and irritating, Chamianna. Namboodiri has nothing to claim as his own, no house, no source of regular income, no family, except music and melody and love and goodness flowering in his heart; He spends every moment of his life, singing Sanskrit slokas and Malayalam poetry and katahkali songs, when he doesn’t chew betel leaves, which of course, he does every alternate hour.
“Periase, varu, onnu murukkam” (come, let us have chew of betel leaves). Vishnu invited me . I am not a regular pan chewer, but to do that along with my friends is a pleasure, inherited from my father. For my father, it was a celebration as well as a tonic to remove the stress and strain and also a constant companion. It was a pleasure to watch him slowly opening his silver casket, removing the top and bottom parts of the leaves, cleaning them by a gentle rub on hands and applying the calcium paste, slowly and leisurely as if the very purpose of taking birth in this world was to enjoy eating betel leaves.
Whenever there was a kathakali program around Palakkad, Krishnavadyar used to come all the way from Perinkulam, and as a child, I remember accompanying them to watch the shows.  Both of them used to sit in the front row with their ‘chellappetty’ and enjoy the dance and songs as well as eating betel leaves, through out the night. How content and happy they were, with these small pleasures, I used to think often, when, at later days,  I used to spent sleepless nights , due to some worry or other, real or imaginary, even after obtaining, fortunately, almost everything I asked for, from life.

‎”Look at that coconut tree’, Namboodiri said,”every part of it, the stem, the leaves, the seeds, even the outer shell of the seed are useful to us. When they die, apart from their flesh, the animals leave, their horns, claws,and skin, for our use and birds, their feathers. Only man, leaves nothing useful, when he quits the world”
.
“Be thankful to the Creator for that, Vishnu”, I said, ” Otherwise, we would not be talking like this, enjoying betel leaves; Someone would have killed us and taken away our skin or bones or nails or teeth.”
” Who was that madama, foreign girl, I saw, along with Seshumama’s family? Vishnu inquired about Liz .When I explained to him her background and that she was to marry mama’s son, Vishnu said,”Earth is but a small pebble on the beach when compared to the size of the known universe; the known universe again,a small grain of sand, when compared to the unknown one. We go on making compartments and compartments, within that small place, close all the windows and doors and struggle for pure air.””Are you looking for your antharjanam ( his deceased wife), among the stars,Vishnu ?”‘”Why should I look up, when she is within me and not a single moment passes without her touch,without her smile,without her laugh, within me.Death is not the end of life; but a part of it.If you still wants to believe that she has left me”, he continued with a smile,
“yes, she got down at Coimbatore and I will be getting down at Erode or Salem. Ithoru theevandi yathrayado,Periyase !”(life is nothing but a train journey)
He got up, put his melmundu on his shoulders and closing eyes enjoyed the Viswaroopam of the Lord,”Anekabahoodara vakthra nethram—” kings and slaves, humans,animals and birds, sun , moon stars and sky, everything living and non living,seen and unseen, heard and unheard, rushing towards that huge mouth,in terrible speed.
“What a magnificent woman  Leelavathi was?”, I thought while walking towards the car along with Vishnu, “And she was his only asset, and when she was taken away, Vishnu became not living, though alive, a walking corpse . He could, however, manage to hide agony by wrapping it with with his loud laughter and infectious smile.
Seshumama was brought home after a week and Liz wanted me and Meera to join Seshu family for dinner that night. Dr.Rao with family also was invited.
” I have made all arrangements for the wedding of Ravi with Lakshmi. Give me the matter for printing the invitation card and arrange for your purohit”, Dr.Rao said. “The wedding will be performed strictly according to your customs and there will be no interference from our side”
‘Won’t it be better to perform Pitchumani’s wedding also on the same muhoortham?”,I asked, “because there are hardly ten days left for their return to U.S.A”
“Ya, Pitch’s wedding also can be performed the same day,” said Liz,” but not with me. My short stay in this house changed my thinking, my vision and attitude towards family life. I have decided that I will not stand in between Pitchu and his parents as, all said and done, there is bound to be a vaccuum between me and the elderly couple who speak different language and are used to a different type of living. I will not be able to cook what they like when they come to US and I will not even be able to share their feelings. Pitchu was not born in wilderness as a cactus in a desert; he was raised in a garden. I never realised before coming here that the family bondage could have such an influence on an individual. l love Pitchu now, more than any time before.  We had discussed this issue in detail and Pitch agreed to accept my decision reluctantly.
I have found a girl for Pitch in Meera, whom I feel will be an ideal partner for him. Dr.Rao has already spoken to Meera’s parents and they are willing for this alliance provided Meera agrees for this proposal.. I think Ravi already had a talk with Meera yesterday and her response is positive. Athai is happy about this alliance and she has agreed to obtain the permission from Pitch’s parents.  I am sure that Perias  too will have no objection.
“I have now a second home in Hyderabad and have found my parents in mama and mami. I will come here every year, for Mother’s Day”
”Mera thamaak karabh kardiya, thum” I told Meera and hugged her.
While going to bed, I remembered what novelist R.K. Lashmanan, said while concluding his short story ‘ My old home’.
” Hope cannot be said to exist, nor can it be said to not exist. It is just like roads across the earth. For actually, the earth had no roads to begin with, but when men pass one way, a road is made”
Weather we walk through the roads already made or make new roads, let us not claim them as our own.
‘There is apparently a force in the Universe working towards order than disorder”, my father used to say, “call it by any name you like’
 Bon voyage Liz and happy wedding to the other youngsters !
Concluded.
(Concluded )
Comments:
Hi Siva,
It is very sad that the saga of Pitchumani has to come to an end

really enjoyed this
I am in a vacation in London with my wife to be with my son and DIL
It kept me going
Thank you
regards
ramani krishnan

Thanks for being with me to hear this story patiently.
Love and regards,
sperinkulam
from Vaancouver
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Comments:

Respected Sivasubramanian ji,
I used to read your mails and this Pitchumani story is very nice.  I appreciate your way of writting.  May God bless you as well as the couples you
have mentioned i.e. Ravi & Lakshmi and Pitchu & Meera.
With kind regards,
M.N. Mani Iyer
Bangalore.

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shontha==================================================================================================================
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The smell of the soil- chapter 04

Chapter  4
What a happy dou !
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 04
“Are there no temples or ponds around here?” Shyamu mami asks.
“No ponds similar to the ones we have in our village, but Temples are there.” Ramu replies, “We will go to the Greater Baltimore Temple this evening”.
“We can show them a swimming pool also,” Ramya adds, “heated pools, I mean”
“Ramya, a top covered, sides covered  water body with almost-  as -was- born men and women floating on the water or moving around , is not what Amma has in mind”  Ramu  remarks and asks with an intended smile,” of course, if she  is interested in seeing, we will take her “
“No harm in seeing once, to know what a swimming pool is.” Swamy shows interest.
“No need,” his wife rejects his suggestion outright and adds with a stern look, “eschew any such erratic ideas from your mind’
“What harm is there?” Ramu enquires, as if he failed to see the catch in his Amma’s admonition.
“Ramu, you don’t know him as much as I do” Mami is not in a position to relent.
“Contain and control “that is all what your mother has been doing with me, all these years”.  Swamy complains, “let your mom be here; I will go back alone to our village.”
“Eschew that aspiration also from your mind,” Mami warns,” I will follow you not like your shadow, but like your kudum[1]i.”
“Oh, mam that is fantastic. Your following dad not like his shadow but like his kudumi, tuft”
” Ramu, that is not following,” Swamy clarifies with a concealed joy, ” that is sitting on my head . Following is less worrisome.”
” Appa, what she wanted us to know is that she dances to your tune, every time you shake your head”  Ramya’s humor rocked the house. Even little Swan bursts in laughter as if he enjoyed the joke.
“Shall I take bath and get ready to go to the temple?” Swamy asks in the evening.
”Dad, this is not your village temple where you walk in, fresh from a dip in the pond behind, with barren torso”
Ramu, recalls his frequent dips in the village pond along with his father, “dad, you remember you used to lift me above your head and plunge into the water?”
“I and your mother remember every small talk, walk, fall and rise of your childhood days.” Glancing at his son and feeling proud of his physical growth, Swamy speaks, emotion embracing his paternal satisfaction, “even while I am left with only an ounce of life in my body, I can recognize your foot steps”
“Thanks Appa.” Ramu decides that he should bring back the old man to the normal ground and asks Ramya to get the parents ready for the temple trip.
“Abnormal.” his father comments, while Ramya was helping him to wear jacket, shoes and other protective wears.
“Not at all, can you visit a Himalayan temple, chest- barren?” Ramu asks, “if you are not comfortable to meet the gods with a shirt on, you can leave it outside, cover your chest and back with a woolen shawl, during worship.”
While helping the elders to remove their jackets and shoes, at the side room, Ramya tells them, “The restroom is to your left, you can wash your hands here in the basin. If you are ready, we will move on to the temple”
“How far is it?”
“Here in the same building” she shows the direction. ”Just a few yards away”
“The toilet in the same building where the sanctum is?” Swamy’s eyebrows raise.
“So what, dad?” Ramu explains,” this is a huge building and toilet is in a corner. Are we not having, in our house, three toilets in the same building?’”‘
“That is true, but in a temple?” his father was not convinced. However big the Temple building is, toilet should be away from it.
“Ah, what a sight!” The elders were awestruck at the beauty of the gorgeous idols adorned with dazzling apparels, jewels and garlands. The wall to wall carpeted, high domed, well ventilated central hall which led to the sanctum, the greenery in the vast land around the building ,the spacious flush green front lawn- all these mesmerizes them .The priests, clad in snow white clothes, spoke politely and distributed apples, banana and dry fruits . There was serenity and peace. But with all that, when they came out, the elders did not have the fulfillment of expectation. They didn’t have the satisfaction; they used to derive in the temples in their villages and outside. Without any paraphernalia, those simple deities, housed in meagerly ventilated, moderately illumined sanctum, instantly vibrated the inner chord of devotion and they could establish a one to one relationship,’ soul to soul ‘ as Swami remarked later. Neither the oily walls and pillars nor the devotional verses flowing from the throat of other devotees diverted the concentration.
“Why was I not able to think of my children and hold my hand close to my chest and pray, ‘God, protect my children’ asks mami.
“Simple, amma” Ramu aires his reason, “you were familiar with the village temple and it will take some time for you to replant your attachment to the new environment”
“What is  it that I have missed ?” Swamy muses, while boarding the car.
” Dad, let me ask you a question,” Ramu turns to his father, while driving, and asks, ” which house do you like better, our ancestral village house or the one here ?”
‘You house is palatial with all modern facilities, ideal for all age group”
“Appa, answer to the point please,” the son insists,” reply this or that”
‘To be frank with you, Appa likes our village house better.”  Mami gives the reply.
‘”Fine, what about you, mom, let me know your preference.”
“I don’t have an opinion of my own.Whatever Appa likes, me too like”
“When it rains, you need an umbrella to go to the toilet ” Ramu argues with mock anger,” because that facility is far away from our village house, in a corner of the back yard. If you forget to close the back door at night,  reptiles will enter inside. Even during daytime, you need a lamp to go inside the store room. There are so many minus points there and still why do you prefer that house?  Because–”
” We love it as we continue to love our body, though it is aged, wrinkled and getting disabled ” Swamy intervenes conclusively, “We love the smell of that soil, in which is mingled our ancestors’ s breath, belongings, memories and our own aspirations, failures, happiness and disasters”
“True, like that, this abode of the gods, despite all its riches does not attract you as much as your village temples, as you are used to them right from your birth and were also patronized  by your ancestors, even before you were born..”
Little Swan, least affected by the talk on present or past, is sleeping in the backseat of the car.
Lucky guy.The future is his.
Comments:

Hi SivaThis serial is good and revels the generation gap between parents and their children who are settled in more developed parts of the worldJust imagine the gap between the grandchildren and grandparents who are used to stay in some agraharm in Palghat !!!!Some of us who stay in Mumbai and kids stay US or UK ,still have some adjustments to make !!!!
You sure have a style of writing
keep it up
regards
Ramani krishnan

–

[1]  Tuft. The elderly Brahmins used to sport a tuft  and even some do.
Posted in B04 — The smell of the soil Leave a comment Edit
 
Comments:

Hi SivaThis serial is good and revels the generation gap between parents and their children who are settled in more developed parts of the worldJust imagine the gap between the grandchildren and grandparents who are used to stay in some agraharm in Palghat !!!!Some of us who stay in Mumbai and kids stay US or UK ,still have some adjustments to make !!!!You sure have a style of writing
keep it up
regards
Ramani krishnan

–

[1]  Tuft. The elderly Brahmins used to sport a tuft  and even some do.
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The smell of the soil – chapter 03

The elder couple enjoyed a good sleep, forced by jet lag and facilitated by plenty of warm materials, room heater, thick and soft mattress over a spring bed at comfortably reachable height, night lamp, chukku vellam (medicated warm water ) in thermos  and a toilet close by.
 
Ramya had thoughtfully hung a picture of the God Guruvayoorappan, on the wall opposite to their bed, after removing a wildlife picture there. They were happy and contended to see the God’s smiling face, the moment they opened their eyes. Swamy sits on meditation, on the bed, for some time while mami was looking for a ‘suprabhatham’ recitation by MS[1], and Ramya, noticing her mother in law’s searching eyes and sharpened ears, switches on the computer and plays the favorite devotional music. Thus started, really well, the first chapter of the maiden morn in America, for the elders, on their maiden trip, outside their country.
 
The second part is hot filter- coffee and the newspaper.
 
“Hindu paper kidaikkuma? (The Hindu paper available here?)” -Swamy to his son, as soon as Ramya placed two tumblers of coffee on the table, for the elders.
 
”Vasallae kolampottaya (have you drawn kolam [2] in the front?” Shyamu,, to her daughter in law.
 
Ramu explains that only local papers are available.  He places a big bundle, which his father rejects outright, as there were hardly any news, none on India and only advertisements. The Indian TV channels were being arranged and within a day or two, said Ramu.
 
” Appa, you should learn to handle the computer so that you can read the news online and also hear YouTube music,” he suggests.
 
“At this age?”,Swamy asks, but covertly wondering,” am I really that old?”
 
Every time he tells someone, “I am old, I can’t do this” etc, he hears a message from within, that he is not that old. But, he worries about his aging, the moment his wife says, “onkalukku vayassu aayatchu, jagradai-you are getting old, take care.”
 
Ramya tells mami that it is not possible to draw kolam outside as cold winds are blowing and moreover, the floor is not ideal for any drawing, as it is wet. She had, however, drawn before the deities in the kitchen. “Let me try” says Shyamu and returns within a moment, unable to stand the cold breeze outside.
 
“Where do I dry my cloth after bath?” enquires mami, “are there strings or ropes at the back?’
 
“No, ma, you cannot dry them outside” Ramya clarifies, ‘‘the machine will wash and dry too”. Mami’s face shrinks. She doesn’t like the idea of her sari getting mixed with other clothes, rotating in a closed machine and getting dried without the sunshine treatment. She fondly remembers her washing the clothes, applying Sunlight soap and beating it on the granite step of the temple pond, dipping it fully spread, into the clear water and drying in open air. “There is a joy in doing that”, she mutters unintentionally which was overheard by her husband.
 
“In doing what?” he asks instantly.
 
”Oh! Your ears?. You were a snake in the precious birth” Mami chides.
 
“I was, no doubt” he jokes, “that is how I chose you as my partner in this birth”
 
“Where do I do my sandhyavandhanam[[3] ?” enquies Mama after his bath, “in the front or back or in the deck?”
 
“In summer, you can do anywhere outside, but not now.” Ramu tells his dad. Now mama’s face shrinks.
 
The memories of his ablution in the village temple- pond and performing the morning and evening prayers on its bank, surges and he feels sad that for the next six months he will miss that pleasure. The imaginary sight of his white  veshti 5, held high in his hands, fluttering in the breeze, making soft sound as if it was talking to the wind, amuses him and he explains to his grandson, through hand movement how the cloth attempts to escape from his hands and fly in the air but he holds it back. The little one understands nothing though he enjoys the hiss made by his grandpa. ‘Thatha, show that again” he demands and Subbu repeats the show with joy. Swan tries to imitate and unsatisfied with his attempt but determined to prove his caliber, picks up a whistle from his mount of toys and makes repeated whizzing sound. “Thathaa, see whether you can do, as I did? ” asks he, handing over the instrument. Thatha pretends as if he is unfit to do the job. The child grabs the whistle and blows more forcefully and proves his superiority, to tom tom which he rushes to his grand ma. ‘Thatha can’t whistle, thatha can’t whistle,” he boasts clapping his hands.
 
“Thahta doesn’t know anything,” Grand ma supports him and complains, “he knows only to shout at me.”
“Amma, you mentioned Appa is your everything for you, a few hours before and how do you say now that he is nothing?” Asks Ramya with a naughty smile.
 
“I know nothing and that is how I became her everything,” clarifies the jovial husband, ” which woman wants a husband, who knows something ?”
 
“Appa, damaging statement,” Ramu laughs .
 
Swan realizes that all were blaming thatha for his inability to whiz and being a good friend, it is his duty to help him. He holds thatha’s hand and asks him to follow.Thatha obediently, silently follows the child,who makes his grand pa to sit comfortably and handing over the whistle,  teaches  how to hold it in the mouth and operate. ” Blow once, let me see whether you are doing properly,” the infant Guru orders and alas, the sishya is now able to do the  job perfectly. Now none will scold him .The kid’s face glows with happiness.
 
Then, thatha explains how, after bath, he enters the temple,” and there stands a big elephant ! “.
 
”How big thatha?, this big,?’” he enqires, rising his tiny hands and thatha explains, “this big” stretching his hand as much as possible and standing on tip toe.
 
“Appa, be careful,” warns Ramya,”don’t slip”
 
Mami is getting down the stairs, for taking bath, which does not escape the eyes of the old man, though the cataract has partially dimmed their brightness.
 
“Wait, wait. I am coming, ” he yells and tries to reach her, when he notices that Ramya is already there helping his wife.
 
“Does he keeps a watch on amma’s movements even in his sleep,?” wonders Ramya.
 
Mami did enjoy the warm water shower though she had some hesitation initially.
 
“There is no privacy,” she complains, “I don’t like the glass cover on two sides “
 
“No privacy?”  Swamy laughs, ” true, not as much as in your village tank, fully exposed to the sky and surroundings. I presume that your problem her is, you have a closed chamber with opaque glass sheets and in addition a curtain too ”
 
” I don’t know ” mami replies, “moreover, I miss the satisfaction of washing my sari with my own hand and  Sun-drying it.”
 
“These are unwanted imaginations and you should come out of these inhibitions ” Mama remarks and laughs, loudly.
 
“Why are you laughing?” Mami enquires wondering what was there to amuse him in what she said.
 
” I too had the same feelings, imaginations or inhibitions, whatever you call it ” he replies and laughes again.
 
“Appa, that is real fun” adds Ramu couple who overheard their conversation .
 
“Amma, I have finished my bath; shall I prepare the ‘neivedyam’ for Appa’s worship? ” Ramya asks, “Shall I keep rice in the cooker?”
 
“No, you open the suitcase in which my clothes are kept” Mami instructs,” there is in it, a small brass vessel with lid. Take it out. I will cook rice in it for neivediyam “
“How did the vessel escape from my notice when I cleared your baggage?” enquires Ramu.
“It was well wrapped in my clothes to prevent damage in transit,” his mother clarifies, “that vessel belonged to your great grandmother.”
 
“Are you hearing Ramya ?” Ramu. “Yes, I am ” She answers.
 
“if you have finished your Sandhya, have some snacks and coffee, appa ” Ramya suggests, ” your pooja can be performed after that”
 
“App will not eat unless he feeds his gods?” Mami says, “but he will have one more tumbler of coffee”
 
“Because the gods doesn’t drink coffee,” adds Ramu with a wink.
 
Swamy’s pooja lasts over an hour and his son, reminiscing the days when he too had performed the same, before coming to US, thinks, ” I should not have left it ” but corrects ,”where is the time for me ? “
 
Again, after a moment, the same thought surges in his mind and with a determination, he takes shower, wears fresh cloth in the conventional panchagattcham style and sits  near his father to recite Rudram along with him.
 
The women are happy. Ramu too has a unique satisfaction of having retrieved something which was loft for a long time. He recalls his young days, when wearing a small dothi and applying holy ash on his forehead, chest and arms, he used to follow his father to the temple, stand before the sanctum and recite mantras and on reaching home, his father used to explain proudly how their son recited the slokas accurately.” I should not have left the recitation and the routine pooja,” he muses and immediately ask the question to himself, “where is time for all those activities?”
 
Swan, sitting close by watching the magic of his thatha, pouring water and throwing flowers, wonders why the two elders are shouting at the dolls  and pictures before them. He should show his competence. “I can make more noise” he avers,  picks up his  pipe and plays as loudly as he can. “Swan, please, you can play later,” his mother pleads..
 
“Don’t stop him, Ramya, ” Swamy instructs, ” let him continue. My Easwaran  loves instruments during worship, especially when played by kids”
 
” But Appa, you used to scold me when, as a kid, I disturbed you.” Ramu complains.
 
“Because you are only my son, not grand son” Swamy replies smiling.
 
 

 

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The smell of the soil – Chapter 02

Chapter 02
Distribution of gifts and parting of property documents
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The moment Swamy enters the ‘restroom’, he is awestruck seeing a row of bright lamps, above a big mirror flooding the whole room with powerful light, and wonders why so many lamps for a bath cum toilet. Why such large mirrors not one but two, he asks himself. The glistening walls and wall to wall carpeted floor makes him wonder whether so much luxury was really necessary. “Devalokam aattama irukku (it is like heaven)” he coos.  The urge to eliminate the extra fluid surging, he postpones the survey of the interior and looks for a conventional toilet seat, which to his disappointment was not there. He settles for the ‘European’ seat, though he is uncomfortable to clear the bladder in a standing posture. And, alas, there was no provision to collect water from the tap!  Timely, Ramu knocks the door and passes on a plastic jug, through the gap of the partially opened doors. “May you live long my son”, blesses the old man.  Once the bladder pressure was relieved, his brains works better and Swamy notices, to his surprise that the partially carpeted floor has no water outlet. He circulates his eyes and finds a white porcelain bath tub and is relieved that he can stand inside the tub and shower. But how will Shyamu have her bath? She needs a stool to sit on. Will a stool fit inside the bath tub? Even if it does, won’t water spill outside and wet the floor? Moreover, the wall of the tub is more than a foot above the floor level. Will she be able to cross it without slipping? He surveys the commode again. Water has to be collected from the tap and while stretching the body there is every possibility of slipping or water spilling or both. With these problems, now he is convinced that the ‘restroom’ of Ramu is neither a room for rest nor a heaven as he evaluated at the first sight.
“Instant evaluation invariably fails” he consoles himself and quotes a Sanskrit verse to supplement that.
“Ramu, is there another bath room?” Subbu enquires and was relieved to know that two more are there, one in the basement and the other in the floor above. When he explained the problems he anticipated, Ramu suggested to use the one in the basement which has a cabin for shower, only a few inches above the ground level and with a flat base so that a stool can be comfortably placed inside. Ramya will keep a bucket of water with a jug near the commode and if necessary the carpet will be removed and water extracted by mopping and drying. A stool and a bucket will also be kept inside the shower chamber. Only problem is the stairs.
”You don’t worry about that,” Swamy assures his son,” I will hold Amma’s hand when she goes to the basement”
”Enna asambandam peasarael-what nonsense are you taking? “Shyamu chides her husband, from the kitchen,” I call you every time I want to go to toilet? ”
“Why do you quarrel on such trivial issue?” Ramu admonishes his parents.
“Trivial issue?” Swamy is yet to come out of the disturbed mood., “Bowl movement is the most important issue for elders like me and your mother; then comes sleep, then–”  ” food ”  Ramu completes with an indented  smile.
“No. then comes the feeling that we are wanted, we are yet to become disposable”. He affirms with all seriousness he can draw on his face, “the feeling those whom we loved even before they were born, have not deserted us when we are incapacitated. The anticipation that they will, when we are gone, miss us at least once a while and will unintentionally a warm drop will fall on the earth from their turbid eyes. That is the only ’tilodakam[1]‘ we expect and not an elaborate post mortal ritual.
Shyamu mami’s eyes become moist and she tries to wipe with the end of her sari. Swan watching keenly from a corner, comes closer and consoles consciously, convincingly though incoherently, “thathi, aszahathunkol, en car unkalukku tharaen- don’t weep, grand ma; I will give you my toy car”
“Appa, amma, you don’t know how much we love you ” Ramu and Ramya hug the parents again and again and the elated elders, unable to find suitable words to convey their appreciation and joy , thank profusely their family deity in blessing them with such a wonderful son and daughter in law.
“Nanna irunkol, kozhanthaikal–be happy my children,” they manage to utter, controlling their emotion.
“How considerate is[2] Appa” wonders Ramya,” even in the restroom he thinks bout Amma’s comforts. Will Ramu also be like his father, when we become old?”
Swan unaware of all this complication continues playing with his toy cars and trains and believes that those are the real ones.
Belief is a great gift the God has endowed us with.
Comfortably settled on the sofa, Swamy could not resist the temptation to ask, “how much did you pay for this?”  “Not much appa,” Ramu assures and adds, “it is on a loan.”
Ramu takes his parents around the interior of the house when the father asks the cost of the house, “it is really spacious”, he conveys his appreciation too. 
“It is on loan and will become my own after 20 years, Appa”.  The son clarifies as if it is not a big issue.
Swamy who had not availed a pie as loan though there was a provision for that in his service conditions, is amazed and sad to note that everything, his son possesses, is on loan.
 
 
There comes Swan not moving like a swan bird but rushing like a whirlwind.
“Cars, sofa, house, everything is on loan, is my grandchild too on loan?” The old man didn’t want to be so rude but his anguish pushes him to be so. The old people of my era and earlier ones hardly knew the knack of polishing their tongue, though they used a rib of coconut leaf for cleaning it in the morning every day. Words, as they emerge from the base of their heart, poured unfiltered, which may be unacceptable to the younger ones, as their unfiltered coffee too was. 
Ramu couple rightly takes his diatribe as a joke and responds with a smile,” no appa, he is our own”
 Shyamu asks her son to open the baggage and takes out laddu, murukku[3] cheedai and other snacks. “Ramu likes kaimurukku and vella cheedai’ she adds,” so I made them with my own hands” 
Ramu and Ramya are amazed at the packs of things coming out of the baggage the elders have brought – Variety of eatables,  dolls and curry powders, appliances for making different dishes like sevai, appam, vdam etc, a  small granite grinder with pestle and many other things. There was a small chendai (Percussion instrument) and a mini nadaswaram for the kid, grabbing which, the little devil created havoc in the house. Then comes a copper vessel containing the salagramam and other idols, with conch, bell, abhisheka patram and other auxiliaries for the daily panchayathana worship, from the cabin luggage.
Mami takes out a packet of clothes places that on a plate along with eleven one rupee coins and asks for akhshatai and kumkumam[4].  Ramu and Ramya prostrate before the elders and collect the gifts along with their blessings. The packet contained a neck tie, two sets of ornaments for neck, ears and wrist, all made of silver and a ready-to-wear panchgatcham and kurtha for the kid.
Ramya and Ramu are immensely pleased with those presents.
“There is little meaning in bringing saris which you seldom wears,” mami explains, “I took the help of the neighbor to choose the jewels. Hope you like them?” she asks..
“These are awesome ma”,  Ramya was still wondering how thoughtful the old lady was in selecting those fashion jewels.
“Swamy hands over another packet to his son.” This contains the documents related to our village house, which I constructed with great difficulty when my income was meager. Under no circumstances you should dispose it off. I know it has no utility value now as you will not be staying in it or even if you let it out, it may not fetch much. But your children and grand children should have something to claim as ancestral property. I didn’t have that, or my father.” 
“But why are you giving the documents to me now?” Ramu enquires.
“Not only the documents”, Swamy replied, handing over another packet, “this contains the key of the bank locker along with a list of the contents, which are your mother’s jewels. Another list is the small savings I have as bank deposits and in shares. Their value is not much but however small it is, that should come to you. All the jewels, pattu saries, silver, gold coins, vessels, whatever Ramya brought from her house,  have been handed over back to her father. I called him one day and asked him to take charge of them. It is not safe to keep those valuable with us.”
“That is fine Appa”,  Ramu intervenes, ” but, why the bank locker key and documents ? Planning to become a sanyasi? “
“I should be prepared to face the inevitable, any moment. And once I am out of the gate, this frail and faithful woman should not stay alone. I have absolute faith in you and Ramya that you will take care of your mother, if I quit first”
“The moment you saw your children, you started blabbering?”, Mami chides her husband again, “do you think I will allow you to go alone ? Haven’t I followed you like a shadow during the past fifty years?, mami asks and ask her husband to go to sleep.
“Yes, where do I wash my feet?  Get me the viboothi (holy ash) dabba. ”  Ramu lead him to the deck though it was cold, as he knew that his father would not be happy to wash his legs in the bathroom, before he reads ‘Adyadmaramayanam[5]‘ prior to sleeping.
Before going to bed Ramu, seeing the light on, enters his parents’ room, ” Appa, you haven’t slept yet?’ he enquires seeing Swamy sitting in deep thought.
“Not yet. Come and sit near me; call Ramya too. I saw her working in the kitchen moments ago”   
” Appa, you have come after a long journey of twenty four hours ” Ramu scans the room and makes sure that the heater, night lamp, pillows, comforts are all in the proper place, “tomorrow we will discuss; sleep now” 
“I admire your trust for a tomorrow for a man of my age ” Swamy was adamant, “let us talk now”
Swan came running asking his dad to put him to sleep. “Don’t make the child to cry; put him to sleep” Swamy insisted.
“So Appa, the moment you saw the kid crying, you are convinced that you have a tomorrow?” The son asks, a sparkle glowing in his eyes. “Poda madaya,” the father dismissed the junior with a proud statement, ” I have never allowed a tear drop to appear e in your eyes, when you were a kid”
.
__,_._,___
 

[1] Sesame seeds mixed with water offered to the departed souls, as part of a ritualr
[2]  Father.
[3] snacks
[4] Rice mixed with turmeric power and saffron. When youngsters prostrates before elders, akshtai is spread of their head as a mark of the blessings for them and saffron is applied on the forehead of women wishing then happy married life.
[5] Holy book of the Ramayanam story.
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The smell of the soil – Chapter 01

The smell of the soil- Chapter 1
———————————————-
The maiden visit of an elderly couple to America
————————————————————
Here, my friend Swamy has landed at the New York airport along with his wife, Shyamu mami.  Before occupying the wheel chairs, they raise their clubbed palms  above their head to thank their family deity, for safely transporting them to the land where their son and  his family live.
 The wheel chair men help to retrieve the heavy baggage filled with a hundred and odd items from koorkai kizanghu [1]to kolu bommai[2], from the conveyor belt and also in the immigration and customs clearance formalities. The old couple is excited to meet their son Ramu, waiting at the exit along with his wife Ramya and little son Swan. Before they enquire, “kozhanthaikala, nanna irukkela (‘Childre, hope you are fine’ is a poor equivalent) they acclaim their parents with a ‘hi dad, hi mom’ welcome and warm hug. The elders bless them and try to grab Swan, ‘vada en thangam’ (come, my sweet precious child). The little imp screams as if the motive of the intruders was kidnapping.
 Ramu takes charge of the baggage dismisses the wheelchair men with a note of thanks and two 5 dollar notes. Swamy is amazed, as his strong base in Matriculation  math works out the amount just parted by his son-  nearly five hundred rupees more than his monthly electricity bill !  “Why so much?” he enquirers and receives the reply “It is OK, dad”. Ramya drapes her in laws with the warm jackets, she had carried thoughtfully with her.
 Ramu helps his parents to mount the Nissan; they feel the glaze of the exterior,  scan the interior and feel proud in that valuable possession. “What is the cost?,” the father enquires and gets the reply, “don’t worry, dad, it will become mine only after five years when I repay the loan”.
  Ramya serves hot coffee, thoughtfully carried from home and then some snacks, probably idli or dosai. The elders convey their happiness though internally a comparison of the flavor of Sekaripuram  Seshu’s coffee powder takes place. The  little joy- bundle, looks at the new comers again through the corner of his lovely eyes and enjoys their trick of raising the tumbler inches  above their mouth and the liquid dripping from it exactly into the cavity between the nose and chin . He is yet to accept them as friends, though now realizes that they were not the dragons he took them for. Fire comes out of dragon’s mouth; here liquid goes into it!
Though disturbed by the two 5 dollar notes dangling from the depth of his mind, Swamy enjoys  viewing the wide, clean roads, prominent guiding posters and hundreds of four wheelers moving in high speeds, without making a single horn sound,   “Rottilae oru mado manushiano illayae, Ramya ( not a single man or animal on the road )”  wonders Shyamu mami.
  Exposed to the chill of the waning winter, they shiver but do not fail to watch the elegance of the house prefaced by a lavish green lawn. Swamy wanted to enquire the cost of the house but decides to postpone the query when Ramya welcomes her in-laws gracing her house for the first time, with a smiling face and  ‘Appa,amma, vango, okkarungo’ (please come in and be seated) .
 Mami doesn’t sit but enters the kitchen and Swamy too doesn’t sit but asks the location of the toilet. “Appa, restroom is there “Ramu points his finger” Mudaallae moothram peyattum da-let me urinate, first” says the old man. Ramu explains that toilets are called restrooms here and leads his father to the place where he wanted to visit first.
“Bagavathi, thayae, en kozhanthakalai kappathu- Mother Goddess,  protect my children always”,  prays Shyamumami, her eyes shut in meditation and clubbed palms collected towards her chest, as she sees the deities and pictures of the gods, neatly arranged in a corner of the kitchen, along with flowers and other materials for the daily worship. She is proud of her daughter in law, an educated working girl from an affluent family, following the traditional practices and proudly and affectionately combs Ramya’s hair with her fingers, as she is unaware of complimentary phrases such as ‘ I am proud of you’. That single affectionate mild touch however, tells everything she had to say and Ramya thinks of her own mother who was no more. Sometime, we realize the real value of a possession only when we lose it and when we find a near alternative our joy is immeasurable.
”Where is our Cherunatturi’s picture?” Shayamu asks and when shown, does one more prostration, picks up her ‘mangalsutram’ hanging from her neck and takes it to her eyes as a mark of reverence to her husband and seeking the blessing of her family deity to give him a long life.
Ramya looks deep into her mother in law’s eyes when she does that followed by a remark,
“avarakkum ennodu lokam- he (my husband ) is my world- my everything. Those simple words, Ramya knows, haven’t emerged from her lips, but from a much deeper, divine soil.
“God, may I be able to repeat these words about my husband in my old age!” Ramya prays silently.

[1] A plant root used in cooking
[2] Dolls of god, assembled for worship, once a year.
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The Winter Winds from the West — Chapter 04

Thripundram, Thiruman, Tattoo and a fancy hand bag?

After paying a silent homage to the departed soul of the ‘King  of pop’, Michael Jackson, one of the most influential entertainers of all times, right before the house of his last stay in Hollywood,  we moved on to the Hollywood walk of Fame, a side walk along the Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street. It serves as an entertainment museum, embedded with more than 2,000 five-pointed stars featuring the names of not only human celebrities but also fictional characters honored by the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce for their contributions to the entertainment industry. Street- shows mimicking the popular artists, display of various physical skills. enchanting parades of fictional characters and showcasing the latest trend in the fashion industry are some of the attractions on the street. You can have a photograph with  dummies of your historic heroes or a warm hug with your favorite cine star- for a price, of course.

The concrete blocks set in the front of the  Grauman’s Chinese Theater, which bear the signatures, autographs, footprints, and hand-prints of nearly 200 popular motion picture celebrities from the 1920s to the present day, are another attraction.This theater is an important land mark, opened in 1927 with the premiere of Cecil B, DeMille’s film The king of Kings and a venue for some Oscar award ceremonies and several prestigious parties.

I am not aware of any place in India,, where foot prints of celebrities are preserved though there are several holy places like, Gaya, Badarinath and Rameswaram  where the Hindus worship imprints on rock etc, believed to be the foot prints of the Gods.

I see around a large number of women proudly projecting the tattoos on their body and that sight brings to my mind the three black dots on the chin of a village girl which added abnormal beauty to her well-chiseled face. There was a black dot on her Adam’s apple too and it was exactly below the dots on her chin giving an impression that it has just dropped, after a quarrel with the others in her chin.

“Kathukuthy thakkai pottu kuriparppen, ammea!
Kuriparppen ammea!
Kanthasami vandhu undhan kurai theerppan”

That is Rakkamma, a dark skinned damsel, sitting on the ‘thinnai or raised platform in front of my house, whom, as a child, I used to watch with admiration and  enjoy her melodious songs. A bundle of colors, wrapped in a red and yellow cotton sari, long hands adorned almost up to half the length with multicolor glass bangles, the humble and humorous villager used to visit us often, carrying a friendly though caged parakeet in her basket and a magic wand. She was many things- in -one. A palmist to alleviate the anxiety on any front, a mid -wife to help the pregnant women when they needed most the help of another woman and a baby sitter when the mothers have to go to the river for a bath and a money lender for my father when he falls short of cash to pay the wages of his employees.

I do observe keenly( from a safe distance of course),the mailanchi/marudani/hanna paste, applied artistically on the hands and feet of girls and young women  during wedding and other auspicious occasions and appreciate the intricate designs of the cosmetic coloring, but on many such occasions, the three  simple dark spots on the chin of Rakkamma, used to pop up in my mind.

Here in Hollywood as well as in several other cities, women, project  the elevation, depression or even level of their body, by painting, some delicately but others elaborately and by trimming their apparels at the required level at the required places so as to obtain the maximum effect of the art work. Even men project their well developed muscles with paintings of cobra,scorpion, wild animals, birds and several other designs, an effort to show-case their masculine power, I am told.Those with impoverished muscles like mine, paint their bald head or neck. My head (exterior!) is enriched; so I do not have that option too.

Tattooing has been an age old method used for various purposes, in several countries- For branding and identification, as a mark of status, rank,decoration for bravery, sexual lure and mark of fertility.Some believed that it helped to ward of ill effects and some had religious significance for that. Slaves and convicts and outcasts were identified by these marks and so were the cattle stock.

The art of tattooing is gaining importance as a powerful tool for attracting the opposite sex, in western countries.

Ammalu, however, dislikes  the extravagant display of designs on the body and call it  derogatory-‘maha avalam!’

Looking at the big, round red colour dot on her forehead, I ask her in a slow voice.

” Don’t I lavishly paint white lines on my forehead, chest, hands and some time on my big belly too? Don’t we anoint the idols of our Gods with sacred pastes vertically or horizontally.  Even the stamping of Sanku-chakra mudras on shoulders is tattooing. You are free to express your dislike but  don’t condemn  the artistic designs as ‘maha avalam”

“What a lovely piece!” She points her finger to a hand bag displayed on a show window, without answering me but looking at another direction.

“That is maha avalam”  I tell her and I have a reason for that. Buying a fancy hand bag from a shop in Hollywood! Am I crazy?

Siva,
Baltimore,
Jan 20, 2010

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The Winter Winds from the West — Chapter 03

The thin veil has vanished.
There has been continuous snowing since last night; glistening thin white pellets are still dropping. The sun, in the distant horizon,  is slowly raising his head , veiled by a thin layer of muslin cloth- like mist  , to watch the lavishly spread  luminous white marble chips spread all over on the earth’s surface and on the top of the slopping house tops.. As if to compensate the loss of colorful leaves during autumn, the nature has decorated the sad, silent and moaning dry trees with shining white snow petals in abundance which hang like pendants of pearl from the branches.
I am sitting close to the window in my study here, gazing at the unbelievably amazing extravaganza of nature, which will not be opened before you every day, even during the winter season here.
When nature gives, it gives in abundance.
P.K. comes in along with his wife, touch my feet as a mark of respect, while bidding farewell. I hate anyone  falling at my feet but accept the salutation of these youngsters, unwilling to offend their sentiments.
“ Thanks, mama, for those consoling words and that warm hug” said P.K. while I hugged him again close to my chest..He continued,” for a moment I thought it was my departed father who had followed me from the temple and accepted me on his hairy chest”
Sri.P.Krishnamoorthy, my son’s friend came to Baltimore yesterday  to perform his father’s  sraadham, annual ceremony for the departed souls, in the Greater Baltimore temple, not far from our house. Availing permission to be absent from his work, with much difficulty and driving over 100 miles, he comes twice an year to perform the annual ceremony of his parents and a spends a night here with my son recalling their school days.
P.K. came to America over ten years ago to earn his living, as he failed to get a suitable job matching his qualification in India and also wanted to study further. By sheer hard work, he prospered in this country and unlike many other youngsters, saved enough money to assure a comfortable life to his parents back home , educated  his siblings, performed  the wedding of his sisters and gave a fitting farewell to his parents who closed their eyes with the satisfaction  that the offspring left behind them in this world was an asset indeed.
The old couple’s only unrealized  wish was that they could not visit the country of settlement of their son  and smell the  soil in which their grand children were born.
“Call me there every year for the annual ceremony. I will cross the seas, flying over the clouds, happily”  His father, from his death bed, had told Kittu  with full hope that his beloved son would offer him sesame  seeds and water, after his departure from this world.
. “Nanum avar koode varenda, Kittu” –I too will come there along with him-His mother too said. Their last wish suited Kittu as well.  It will be practically impossible for him to visit India twice an year, to perform the annual ceremony of his parents, considering   his busy work  schedule,  wife ‘s job, children’s education and several other factors.
I accompanied him yesterday to the temple and the pandit , wearing crystal clear pancha and equally pleasant  smile, conducted  the ceremony strictly according to the vedic sanction. It was a solemn occasion with no intermittent cell phone sound or distracting talks or bargaining for the fees, though the priest’s  pronunciation of mantras  was slightly different from the vaadyars from the south. There was also some minor variations in the procedure, for example,   archana or floral tribute along with arkhyam ( offering of water) for the departed souls , devathas (divinities), Rishies (Saints)  and  great aacharyas (teachers) like  Bheeshma, Anjaneya etc  was performed with great dedication.
Kitto  and  his wife were completely satisfied and sincerely believed that his father’s soul would have crossed the  oceans and accepted the beloved son’s offering of fruits, vegetables and cereals, comfortably seated on  darbha grass neatly spread on the bamboo mat placed over an absolute clean floor surface.
Their happiness, unfortunately was short- lived. When we returned home for food , Kittu, unexpectedly saw the  print- out of  some of the posts from our forum’s website, which I had placed in a tray on the computer table for studying .  Those were related to the commentary on Bagavatham, a Hindu scripture, by a well  known vedic exponent.
One of the extracts said:
“Do not perform sraadha in foreign countries and call the pitrus there! When you do avahanam of the Pitrus in the kurcham, they actually come there”
(Explanation:  In the annual ceremony, the departed soul is invited to be seated on a spread of darbha grass and the belief is atman (soul or spirit) does respond to the call and accept the offer of clothes and food in the form of water, sesame seeds, fruits, vegetables etc. In a more elaborate form of annual worship, the offer is made through the tongues of the holy fire generated for the purpose,accompanied by appropriate mantras.
According to the exponent, the Bagavatham do not sanction the invitation of pitrus or departed souls to foreign countries.)
The second  one was the learned Veda exponent’s reaction to a query :
“Oru payyanukku, avan thayyarukku karmam pannarathei vida verey periyya velai enna irukku ?  Appadi leave kedakkaleinna, velayei vittu vittu varattum.  Intha velei pocchunna innoru velai kedeikkamala irukka  pokarathu ?”
(Explanation: For a son, what other activity can be more important then performing the ceremony of his mother? He should resign the job if permission to absent from the work is not granted. After all, he should be able to get another job)
Kittu went through the comments, remained silent for a while, lifted his head and with tears rolling down his cheek, asked me, “did I commit a sin by inviting my father to cross the sea and  come over here to accept my offerings?. Intha velai pona (if I lose this job ), won’t my family be in the street mama?” I patted his back to console him.
”Please answer my query, mama!” he pleaded again,” did I commit a sin by inviting my father to cross the sea and come over here to accept my offerings?”
“No my son” I consoled the youngster, hugging him close to my chest, “ Your father would have come even to the Sahara desert to respond your sincere invitation. The scriptural sanctions seize to act beyond the border of life. And remember, the sanction of your own conscious, clear and pure as the snow around here, supersedes any dictates, from the present or past, human or divine.”
I watched silently while that obedient and worthy son was moving along with his wife towards his Mercedes-Benz.
In the distant sky the sun shone  brighter. The thin veil  has vanished.
Love and regards,
Siva
Baltimore
Jan 08 2010