Siya and Bow-bow

For the uninitiated, Shreya is my two year old niece. If you ask her name, she will promptly reply Siya. So she is Siya at home.

Siya is crazy about dogs be it the street dogs, pet dogs or her toy dogs. She refer to them as bow-bows. Siya takes her neighbour's Pomeranian dog Golu out for walking. Can you imagine a two year old girl doing it, considering that poor me, her aunt, is a bit scared of this hyperactive canine creature. She is not at all scared, rather she feels very important. She pulls the dog by his belt, bosses him around, and walks bravely along on the road, occasionally stopping for Golu to pee. It's a sight to see because Siya is hardly as big as the dog.

Siya plays a lot of imaginary games. Back home she will take her dad's belt and walk around with an imaginary Golu, talking in her baby language and occasionally shouting " Golu, come hereee", "Golu go there". After a while Siya will be bored and the belt will instantly transform from imaginary dog to an imaginary hose pipe to water the garden plants.. She will go around with the belt watering the imaginary plants and pluck imaginary flowers from her garden.

Hugs to my little sunshine girl !!!!!

The view outside

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I often look down through the glasspane of the restroom at my office. After a tiring time infront of the monitor, it is a comfort to see the bright sunny view outside. It is not by any means a pleasing view, with an eerie looking cemetery, an empty plot dumped with garbage and monotonous array of rectangular buildings.




On a particular frustrating day at work, as I entered the restroom with a furrowed brow, just chanced to look outside and behold, there is a perfect beautiful rainbow arched out wide across the expanse of the sky. I have seen rainbows countless times. But never have I been happy to see one since my chidhood. The sight made me happy. Maybe the frustration and stress of that day made me appreciate the simple pleasure of seeing a rainbow. It gave a hope to my otherwise hopeless day.

And today morning the life outside that window was all different. As I looked down, I could see a mob gathered
inside the cemetery. Obviously someone had died.. Few men were digging the earth to bury the corpse. I could see wailing women, garlands of flowers, the body wrapped in a white cloth and cows grazing inside the cemetery. It caught me by surprise since I had least expected to see such a view outside. In the afternoon I was expecting to see an abandoned cemetery again with an added tombstone. And what I saw shook me. There was a man lying over the grave and weeping uncontrollably. He was all alone and seemed unpacifiable.. There was nobody around to share his grief, nobody to support or comfort him.. He was a lone man. He looked like daily wager in shabby clothes and shaved head... Maybe it was his loving wife who died ..or maybe it was his beloved child.. or maybe his very own parent..An immense loss for him.. I stood there speculating for a few minutes and then moved on...

The view outside the window, I guess, will keep changing. And I on the other-side of the window has nothing much to do, but watch.

When I think green, I remember my father's ancestral house nestled in the interiors of a remote village in Thrissur. The small tiled roof house enclosed by a dense courtyard, lined with coconut, mango, jack fruit and arecanut trees. You name the trees and it will be there.. Where the faint scent from nutmeg and tamarind trees waft in the air.. Where the cows and hens rule the haven..Where the courtyard wall is never concrete or cement but a dense row of thorny bushes... Where the summer vacation were spent climbing guava trees, munching juicy red cashew fruit and slightly sour roseapples (chambakka)..





















Image:wwwsoulreflectionsinartcom-colleen.blogspot.com


 The small house stands proudly, with a neat garden in the front. At a corner of the yard stands the cowshed and hencoops. Right next to the cowshed, there are pyramidal haystacks mounted after the harvest, which ultimately feeds the cows. There is an old well with moss covered stone walls near the house. Pigeons used to build nests between the creeks of it's wall and we used to scare these birds by splashing the water with well-aimed stones, that makes them noisily flutter out of their cosy nests. The well water was used to irrigate the fruit trees in the courtyard. Water was initially pumped up into a small tank, from where it flowed through a channel and then cascaded down forming a waterfall. As kids, all of us cousins used to take bath here. Few will plunge into the tank, few will be in the water channel, and others frolic under the manmade waterfall. It used to be an awesome experience playing and bathing in the pure, ice cold water coming deep from within the earth. This water will ultimately flow through mud structures made into a canal (kayyani) that irrigate the whole land. I used to love playing in kayyani. Whenever water was being pumped, I used to run through this mud canal happily splashing the water all over. During monsoon, when irrigation was not required, I would eagerly watch out the kayyani for those green tadpoles and eggs floating on staggered rain water..

There is a long wooden bench and desk in the house, where we six cousins used to sit together and have food. Pet cats used to walk under our desk, rubbing their furry bodies against our legs, eating tidbits of fishfry and pappad that fell from our hands or are deliberately dropped when we didn't like the food. There used to be atleast 5-6 cats anytime. As a kid, I used to hate milk. Drinking milk was a chore which I used to escalate to the cats. So after carefully ensuring that my Mom was not looking, I will pour out my share of milk to a coconut shell and secretly offer the cats, who used to lap it up all gleefully.

In the evening at dusk, we used to visit our family temple. When I think about that time, I remember everybody freshening up to visit temple and I can still feel the scent of Cuticura powder mingled with sandalwood paste lingering in the air.. We used to take oil bottles and wicks to lighten the stone lamps around the temple. I love the sight of these coal black stone lamps darkened by years of exposure to oil and fumes. I feel, it's the fresh feeling of evening bath and the heavenly glow of stone lamps in the dark that gives a spiritual aura to my childhood temple memories.. Even when I visit temples nowadays, which happens rarely, I don't feel particularly religious, rather I feel spiritual..I feel light..

When I took hubby dear after wedding to the ancestral house, I was looking forward to recreate those wonderful memories. Showing him the old house, the well, the cowshed and hen coops, the kayyani and temple..The cowshed is uninhabited and wild creepers have grown all over it... There is no trace of the hencoops.. The old well and the tank still remain as testimonies of good times.. In the evening, it was drizzling but we still decided to go to the temple. My parents, sis, brotherinlaw and little niece were also there.. We had to walk through the dark village path for a short while to reach the temple. It was pitch dark and cloudy with no street lamps. As we walked under the umbrella, M's arms wrapped around my shoulder, the cold breeze making us quiver, I longed to see the glowing stone lamps and fill myself once again with the spiritual aura of my childhood. As I looked ahead, I could see the rest all walking ahead. My Achan and Amma under the umbrella leading the way.. My Chechi and Chettan with vava in arms closely following them.. And we both behind.. As I pointed out to M, how my Achan holding Amma under the umbrella is the same way in which Chettan is holding Chechi & it's the same way M's arms wrapped around me, we couldn't help smiling.. Three generation walking toward the temple in the rain... Three generation seeking spirituality and solace in the age old dieties of the temple, where generations of people have thronged.. Life seems to have come to a full circle...

It had been a long time since I lost those keys, the keys to the wooden cupboard upstairs at home. Out of blue, my Mom found it out last weekend. It had been years since I had opened the cupboard. It was stuffed with old school books, magazines, few greeting cards, a dead spider and few cockroach eggs among other stuff.

I flipped the pages of my history text book.The papers have turned into a dull yellow with rusty brown spots scattered around. History used to be one of my favourite subjects,unlike most of my classmates who perpetually cribbed about mugging up boring events and insignificant dates. For me, History classes were never boring. Rather they triggered my imagination. I used to imagine myself living in the Harappan civilisation, fighting in Bolshevik Revolution, praying to the Inca gods and travelling through Amazon rainforests. As for exams, I am sure I gave vent to my poor suppressed imagination on the exam sheet.

There were my school note books wrapped in brown paper with those colourful name-slips glued on them. The brown paper must be a product of the yesteryear's school-going generation. I wonder if brown papers are still available around in our stores. Inside the book, the blue fountain pen ink had started fading away..

My handwriting looked so unsteady & childish, so very different from what it is now. When we initially started using fountain pens in school, I remember the trademark blue ink smears on our fingers, where the fountain pens used to leak. During lunch break, you will find a gang of kids ritually rubbing their fingers against the stone wall near the wash area to get rid of those blue spots.

On the lower deck of the cupboard, there were a collection of Balarama (kid's magazine) & a bunch of greeting cards belonging to my sis. She had collected it over her school & college days. It was an era when Bday cards & Christmas cards were a rage among the college goers. It must be the time when Archies cards started invading the Indian gift shops following economic liberlisation.

Then I found my old school magazine where I had written a small article. It was weird reading through it. The words which I had penned a decade back sounded so strange..It was like rediscovering the old self and realising how much a decade has changed me..Maybe years from now, when I read this blog I might get a similar feeling.. Maybe I will feel good.. Or maybe I will feel it's all so silly...

I absolutely love this feel of finding old stuff unexpectedly...the feel of the memories associated with it..It's always nice to find an old friend in a crowded bus rather than at an Alumini meet..It 's nice to find an age-old photograph while flipping an old book rather than seeing a newer pic on Flickr or Picassa..

I remember the time when I opened my Grandfather's wooden chest many years back. I got two coins, one dating back to as far as 1897. It was only a quarter anna coin or so, with the head of a British King. It was a real treasure for me. I feel like hiding some of my stuff now, so that many years later when I accidentally discover it, it will feel extra special.

My New Roommate

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It's been terribly long since I have updated this space. Somehow, whenever I tried putting down something, words just stopped at my finger tips. Lots have happened since my last post. The most important being, I got my new roomie M. Well, I mean, a roommate for a lifetime ;) But the sad part is since M is yet to complete his research, we stay apart. So am back to my PG and will continue to write bachelor-life-like stories ;)



















This pic was taken by a dear friend B. He had attended the function, clicked lots of pics and surprised us with an album, which he sent by courier. A truly personalised gift which we treasure.. Thanks a ton B !!!

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