I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day. - James Joyce
My mind’s racing back to the days gone by. Let me be.
My childhood was a celebration of love in a beautiful cottage at Royapettah. Hardly 700 sq ft in total. Front and back yard together, 3 grounds. Boy! Did we love that home.
Trees that raised us: Coconut, Gooseberry, Pomegranate, Mango, Sweet Lime, Jambalam, Guava, Custard Apple and Banana. All of them took pride in keeping us pink and healthy; beyond gratitude of being watered generously.
Cassy, born on June 13, 1988, was our Alsatian cross. Our Gentle Giant. Icy cold nose. When her brown eyes met mine, I needed no one else. She shared three of her pups with us (Dunlop, Bruno and Boxer). I timorously watched her giving birth. Nine pups in total. That was the first birth I witnessed (September 13, 1990); the next being Rohan (December 1, 2004). What a sight…What a feeling…
Blacky, our cat was startlingly beautiful. She had 3 kittens. Juvenile mom that she was! Cassy most lovingly adopted the kittens and fed them along with her pups; belly full. Blacky’s maternal instincts came to life only when she groomed her litter. She was good at it. We tried our hands at raising chickens, parrots and love birds, but Blacky was a killer. Her mischief was detrimental. I was crazy about her. Mom was not. She robbed too much fish. Her heart-throb tomcat (never named him), disturbed our sleep by calling to her, too loud. She had so much time for him.
For me, it was all love and fresh air. I was oblivious to the world. I had the time to grow, and gain an understanding of each new phase, each change along the way. I grew slowly, with clarity. It was no rushed affair.
We were in want of nothing. God and Nature met our needs. We made the most of what we had. The lesser we had, the lesser we wanted, the more content.
Mom had four of us (the eldest, a boy and three girls), even before she closed 30. My parents were all sacrificing. They worked hard to raise and educate us. We excelled academically and at extra- curricular activities. My parents loved us way too much to pamper us. Spared no rod to discipline us. Through their discipline, we learned obedience, respect and self control; through their humour, we learned to laugh; through their goodness, we learned the art of keeping a good heart. And it was through their faith that my own was born. Rain or Shine, they loved each other, truly. They demonstrated how love and faith will see us through any storm.
I hardly remember sibling fights. What I do remember, though, were the fights we had for the first and last slice of the bread loaf. We loved each other so deep.
The old Mango tree tolerated us, even when she hurt. She permitted us to study, draw, sing, swing, make friends, watch the sunset and laugh without any inhibitions. She made us feel both safe and excited, free but protected. We were quite acrobatic, I should say. Muscles were built quite naturally, while pumping water in our back yard. We drew water from the well, too, to water our trees. Did I tell you that everyone at the inter-school sports meet feared my sisters? Thanks to their practice sessions while running mad when the metro water tanker entered our streets. They were champions in hurdles too. So our pots always stood first in line. I stood last, with eyes half open. The tanker usually came in at 5:00 am. We thanked God for water.
We walked for almost 6 kilometers to school and back home, effortlessly. My sister carried me, bag and all, every time we had to cross a road. I still fear. Rickshaw journeys were reserved for Sunday morning church service. I always got to sit under the shelter. I was their baby. Yes, those were the good old days.
We had three maids and a watchman (as we designated him). They were not sought, but they sought. My mom sheltered. Kuppu was the oldest. 90 plus. She nagged and beat nut the whole day. Tung Tung, Tung, so rhythmically. That noise was life. I did not like the noise at her burial.
We were three girls. Mom made sure that we learned to cook and clean up at an early age. Our home always had extra food. God had been merciful.
When in the yard we played seven stones, goli (marbles), or butch. When on the street we flew home-made kites, played cricket, badminton, gili dhandu, koko etc. We always had excess players.
Power failure meant cuddling on rope cots under the moonlight. We lazed, harmonized, watched the moon play hide and seek, and listened with mouths open, to the thrilling stories that Dad cooked up for us. When sleep called, me the youngest, slept on dad’s chest. When he snored, I chose to be with mom.
Entertainment meant puppet shows organized by my family. My eldest sister, an artist, made hand made puppets out of paper mache. My brother wrote hilarious scripts. Silly laughter broke loose. Saturday night was time for our family musical. Dad played the guitar while we kids sang. Mom couldn’t sing for nuts and she was the target of all jokes. Sunday 5 pm Tamil movie on DD channel, was a must see. Neighbouring kids gathered at my home to watch the movie in our sturdy black and white Dyanora set. Mom served snacks at 7 pm during interval. We screamed “Sorry for the Break” in unison. Shobana Ravi came in most of the time to read the news. Only when our homework was complete, were we granted access to the T.V. ‘Oliyum Oliyum, Thiraimalar, Giant Robot, My little pony, Banjo, Wonder Balloon, He-man and the masters of the universe, Spiderman, Fragile Rock, Chitrahar, Mahabharat, umm, whatelse?
Summer Holidays were so much fun. We hired VCPs and watched movies, the whole day…at times the whole night. A slice of water melon or the fattest cheek of a mango lit up our days. A visit to Marina beach was most welcome. A week with my cousins at St.Thomas Mount, was a traditional thing to do every summer. My parents instructed me on good behaviour before every trip. I dressed stylishly. Baggy pants and t-shirts were in fashion. I made so many friends here. And my first crush. I was 13 years then. I thought he’s the one I’d marry. How wrong of me.
Birthdays (even my pet’s) and Festivals called for celebration. Govindarajan Street, always came alive during these days. There was no religious discrimination in our colony. We celebrated each other’s festivals and shared sweets and cooked meals for neighbours. Babu’s mom for the love of me, ate the cake we baked. It contained egg. Heard she rests in peace.
There came the great floods in 1985. Our 700 sq ft was flooded. Charles and family, our neighbours, accommodated us (pets including), till the water receded. We kids drowned the flood with our laughter. Sam was kind enough to give me all his Archies’ Double Digests and his dimpled smiles. I relaxed while my parents worried. Guess they lost material possessions in the flood. They never mentioned. I never knew.
Loss of material possessions didn’t matter much to us. I wouldn’t jump if I lost a gold earring screw. Mom wouldn’t be mad, I knew. She’d rather spend her energy whacking me if I had lied, or disrespected someone (according to her yardsticks).
Loss of loved ones, turned tables. My first greatest pain: 1991. The Blue Cross had sent vans to pick –up street dogs. Cassy hearing the yelps, jumped the gate and entered the rabid van. We were alerted by the government sweeper. My dad had made it to the electric crematorium at Basin Bridge just in time. He saved her. None of us went to school/college that day. We sat anxiously by the telephone in our neighbour’s house. Neelakandan (the famous director, of old). We and the inmates applauded when dad had broken the good news. We applauded again, 7 years later, when we received our first landline connection.
Cassy left for good on October 14, 2002. My Birthday. She was 14 years then. I knew why she chose to. Someone confirmed that they saw her run-over carcass. She never left home. That’s the truth I choose not to believe. I read and re-read the poem ‘Rainbow Bridge’ in memory of pets. I mourned for days and reality and pain welcomed me. Dunlop and Bruno stayed on till they turned 12. They too chose birthdays to say goodbye. God’s providence, for sure.
Then there was no stopping. We lost immediate family in accidents. Three consecutive years. The loss was unbearable. I stopped enjoying instrumental music ever since. Days of innocence and frolic became scanty. We shifted our residence. Bye Bye old friends. College dawned and expectations soar. Trips to the post office lessened. I wrote less. I did not miss Blacky anymore. Cats are territorial. She refused to budge.
Everything joint became so isolated. The love and values we built were always there but we missed our smaller home that we rented. Our new home that we owned was complicated. The yard was there, but the essence was not. I missed my Mango tree. I missed being a butterfly. I missed myself.
Life rolled and I made an effort to love this new home. New friends happened but could never replace. I hardly walked now. I traveled to school by bus. I concentrated on mastering trigonometry. I never did.
Life rolled. I fell in Love*. I was happy. I finished college and the corporate world welcomed me. I cried at the wedding of my siblings and the birth of their children. I cried with the fear that I will not be their baby anymore. I was wrong.
Life rolls. Am married now* and have Rohan. Both of them have lit the spark back into my life. Life can never be the same like when I was a child. It’s different. Complicated, but promising. The real world is still beautiful. Thanks to all the beautiful friendships I’ve earned. I will hold them dear, for life.
Through all, I miss my childhood family. I think about mom and dad often. How gracefully they acknowledged blessings and managed troubles. I am struggling to make a balance. But I WILL get there, soon.
I dream, EVERYDAY. I hate to dismiss these dreams. I do not want to run through life so fast, that I’ve forgotten my roots. I’m savouring this journey. Those were golden days that I would love to take my Rohan through. Even if for a day. Nothing remotely operated. Nothing digital, Nothing preset. Just simple. Easy to live.
Thank You Lord.
It’s my turn now to give this little boy a happy childhood. Help me show him how much he is loved and wanted. By the sparkle of delight in my eyes when I smile at him. By the unhurried way I read him stories, even stories that I have read to him a hundred times before. Help me handover to him values that were passed on to me – verbally, visually and metaphorically. May his childhood be filled with such happy times, Lord, that when he looks back on them, twenty, thirty, forty years hence, the memories will bring a smile to his face and a reassurance to his heart that he was wanted, and that he was loved.
