September 2, 2011
"Ayyo...Pambeee" (ayyo....snakeee), a cry had pierced the neighborhood few days ago, around noon. It came from the servant of the home that shares the northern wall with Rema aunty's house. The servant was washing clothes when a rat snake went over her feet. It must have been enjoying the coolness of the perpetually wet area around the big washing stone in their backyard. Washing stone is a smooth stone usually set in cement or concrete on which clothes are beaten to cleanliness like the character of Indian kids of the previous generation.
The possibility of a serpentine passover on the feet kept me alert as I was gargling my mouth with hot salt water this morning in the backyard. I had sheltered myself under the low coconut tree seeking protection from the higher coconut trees from which coconuts, underdeveloped small coconuts (kochanga in Malayalam) and dried fronds have a chance of dropping. Many unsuspecting Malayalee heads have been cracked by such falls. This love-hate relationship laced with fear is the reason why falling of a coconut never inspired a Malayalee to speculate on the theory of gravitation. Apple is a sissy fruit compared to the heavy, hard coconut. It is the habit of having an eye on the sky to watch for possible coconut attack that has made Keralites aim high in other spheres of human endeavour. This psychological impact of the great tree must be acknowledged today, Sept 2nd, that is being celebrated as International Coconut Tree Day.
Mathrubhumi newspaper had a full page dedicated to coconut today. I learnt that the name coconut comes from the Portuguese word 'cocos' meaning monkey-like. The un-husked coconut with its "eyes" and "nose" must have reminded Portuguese explorers of monkeys. The newspaper is launching a project to make school children plant more coconut trees. It is a good move as more construction all over the place comes at the cost of coconut trees. Amma's friend had remarked yesterday while we were struggling in the traffic on our way to drop her at the railway station that Thiruvananthapuram is a developed village. She appreciated the rustic, green feel but lamented the pathetic infrastructure and the political apathy towards development.
When I woke up, I found a lizard on the bathroom wall. I still have a baseless fear of lizards losing their grip and falling on me. Achan had told me that good old disinfectant Dettol instantly kills lizard if a drop falls on them. I had no intention of carrying out an execution. I have already murdered two cockroaches in the bathroom. They were squashed with the shoes I brought from US. Perhaps they were some reborn Hindu souls who had died with the unfulfilled desire to touch American soil. For the lizard situation, I cleaned the bathroom and wiped the walls with Dettol. Hopefully the smell will serve as a deterrent.
After so many days, got some time early morning to look at the vegetable garden in the backyard. The "Muringa" stems brought back on 'Botany Sunday' are showing signs of life. Exciting! Two brinjal (egg plant) plants have also come up.
One of wedding greeting cards that Tara received came in an envelope affixed with a Rs. 5 stamp that featured Sonneratia Alba. I had no idea what this tree was. Googling led me to the wonderful site mentioned at the end of this note. The Malayalam name for S. Alba is Chakkarakandal. In English, it is commonly known as mangrove apple. I should learn more about the stamps from Indian postal service dedicated to flora and fauna. They don't get as much press as those dedicated to famous people. But I am sure they are licked just as often.
I went with Achan this morning to get the venue certificate from the marriage auditorium. We went walking through the back lanes. What used to be a swampy open area and some fields while I had been here last, is now a densely crowded housing colony. It being a working day, the road in front of the marriage auditorium was crowded. We had once again been lucky because Tara's wedding day was a school holiday. Gangs of school girls in their white salwar and green dupatta uniform were rushing towards Cotton Hill school.
While we waited for the cerfiticate, the young man at the auditorium office asked us to check out the decoration of the hall that had been done for the wedding being conducted today. It was a neat and simple arrangement with a curtain of floral garlands as backdrop and two kasavu (gold bordered) sarees arranged like huge Chinese fans. "This is 45,000" he said. That is less than half of what we paid for a different design. May be my astrologically predicted intercaste marriage can use this one. I will tell my astrologer uncle to find me a same caste girl when I meet him next just to see his reaction!
When we got back, Amma suggested shopping for fish from the Matsyafed stall. We had been on a pure vegetarian diet for the last three days. So I jumped at the chance. We got kingfish heads which transformed into a wonderful curry by lunch.
The catering manager came by to settle the bill. He enquired about my marriage. Amma and Achan were all praise for the great food which had pleased all the guests. The manager was very happy. Perhaps that happiness lightened the settlement amount. It wasn't as high as we had expected it to be. We asked him for the recipe of the second dessert "payasam" that was served for the wedding feast. It was easy to detect ripe plantains, gram and jaggery in the payasam but we couldn't quite figure out what the fourth significant ingredient was. "Dates...dates mashed up in a mixer," he revealed, "we won't make the recipe public till the wedding season is over." Wedding catering service is an intensely competed business here.
Achan is a man of very few demands. One of them i.e. not liking everyone's dirty laundry getting mixed together has led to the absence of a washing machine in the house. Everyone in the family does their own washing.
Amma cheats by getting Rema aunty's maid Omana to do hers. I don't blame her. Amma's childhood was one of neglect and malnourishment which has led to many ailments now. She used to walk 8 kilometers each direction every day to attend the only school 'near by'. My oldest uncle recently said that he respects Sri Narayana Guru because if Narayana Guru had not started the high school in Sivagiri, all the brothers and sisters in Amma's family would have been forced into manual labor after primary schooling. My astrologer uncle recalled how he used to complain to the sun in his childhood if he could not get enough grass from the fields to fill a basket. Going home without a full basket meant empty stomach and punishment. Considering how much Amma has risen in her career from these rock bottom beginnings, my PhD, which is the ultimate result of top grade baby food, scrumptious meals every single day of life and best possible schooling in town, pales in comparison. Yesterday all of Tara's wedding jewelry came back for safe keeping in the bank locker. Amma laid them out on the bed and was happily trying them on. All of them were bought over the years from her savings and Achan's. She had a childish delight while doing this. Achan had mentioned about this earlier to me. Such luxuries were surely beyond her imagination when she was a child. There is no need for Amma to wash her clothes now, if Omana is not around to do it, I am going to be around.
Also, I have realized that washing clothes the traditional way is a great physical exercise.
Lifting and scrubbing tones delts.
Squeezing (i.e. kuthipizhiyal in Malayalam) works the pecs.
Wringing them dry is great for biceps and flexors.
Beating clothes on the stone for triceps and lats.
Repeated bending and rising for abs and spine. (except for lower abs which are always at the mercy of the planets and shadow planets and zodiac stars)
Putting clothes up on the clothesline again flexs the delts and lats.
Seenu called this morning. She wanted a write-up called A-Z of Onam festival for the Delhi edition of Times of India. 2-3 sentences about one word that can associated with Onam, starting with each letter. It needed to be done by today. She cleverly carved up A to O for herself and assigned me P-Q. I used words like Xenophilia, Zaftig & Zapata. Afterall, it is soft-porn publication called Times of India and she assured that my name won't appear. While working on it, found some interesting links talking about different legends of Onam prevalent among the lower castes and tribals and the possibility of the prominence of yellow color hinting at Buddhist origins of the festival.
Ajith and Tara couldn't submit the marriage certificate application because the officer at Thiruvananthapuram Corporation asked for caste certificate. Ajith has a proof of caste because Kerala government puts this useless label on the Class X passing certificate. Tara doesn't have it because she studied in CBSE syllabus. It is ridiculous that such a thing is being insisted on. I wonder if Lokpal will deal with such nonsense as caste certifications.
Achan said he cannot remember hearing any music at Tara's wedding. His attention was always elsewhere. He said this was the third wedding where he didn't hear any music. The earlier ones being his own and his younger sister's. By contrast, I did hear all the different music at my younger sister's wedding!
While we were having tea, I smelled cooking gas and rushed to the kitchen. Only then Achan remembered that he had kept water for boiling. The water had boiled over and extinguished the flame. Gas continued to flow freely. This dangerous forgetfulness is something I have to become careful about with both Achan and Amma. Amma drives the car simply by looking straight ahead of her with little attention to the sides. Its only because speeds are generally low and other drivers are careful that she manages. Thankfully both of them don't mind admitting that age has taken a toll on their capacities for attention. We've decided that from now on, the stoves will be kept on only if there is someone in the kitchen.
I'll do a dry run of my new work schedule today. Markets open in US when it is 7pm here. Much of the action should be over by 1am.In the evening, Rema aunty came by to give me an Onakodi. Onakodi is the traditional gift of dress given by elders to younger folks during Onam. I haven't been around to receive an Onakodi for the last 15 years. So this 'mundu' has a special place in my heart where it will need no retying!
A great link: http://www.flowersofindia.in/
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