మొన్న నా ఫ్రెండ్ నాగిని వాళ్ళమ్మగారి గురించి రాసిన పోస్ట్ చదివాక, నాకు కొన్ని జ్ఞాపకాలు గుర్తొచ్చాయి. నేను ఒక టైములో ఎథిస్ట్ మాదిరి గానే ఉండే దాన్ని. అమ్మ కూడా మా  చిన్నప్పటి నుండి పెద్ద పూజలు, గట్రా  చేసే టైపు కాదు. అంతెందుకు ప్రతి రోజు దీపం పెట్టే అలవాటు కూడా తనకి లేదు. నాకు ఎప్పుడు అదో తప్పు లాగా అస్సలు అనిపించేదే కాదు. అమ్మని అలా చూసి పెరగటం వల్లనో ఏమో నాకు పెద్ద భక్తి అబ్బలేదు. కానీ ప్రతి సంవత్సరం క్రమం తప్పకుండా వినాయక చవితి, దీపావళి మాత్రం ఇంట్లో బాగా జరుపుకునే వాళ్ళము. అదే అలవాటు కాబోలు, ఇప్పటికి ఆ ఆనవాయితీ కంటిన్యూ చేస్తాను.

నా హై స్కూల్ అయ్యాక ఖమ్మం నుండి కొత్తగూడెం మారాక, అమ్మ తన టైలరింగ్ షాప్ మానేసి  ఇంట్లో ఉండేది. నాన్న రోజు బయటకి వెళ్ళే ముందు, అమ్మని, కొద్దిగా వాకిలి ఊడ్చి ముగ్గు వేయొచ్చు కదా అంటే, వరండాలో కూర్చుని సీరియస్ గా ఈనాడు పేపర్లో ఎడిటోరియల్ పేజీలో మునిగిపోయిన అమ్మ తలెత్తి ఒక్క లుక్ ఇచ్చేది.  ఆవిడ చూపు , ఆయన విసుగు మొహం రెండు మెదడు లో అలా ఉండి  పోయాయి.

నాన్నకి ఎప్పటి నుండి అలవాటో నాకు గుర్తు లేదు కానీ శివుడుకి పూజ చేయకుండా మాత్రం బయటకి వెళ్ళే వాళ్ళు కాదు. నేను ఇంటర్లో శ్రీశైలం ఎక్స్కర్షన్ వెళ్ళినప్పుడు సరదాగా ఒక చిన్న గాజు శివలింగం తెచ్చాను. కానీ తెచ్చాక ఎవరో చెప్పారు. ఇంట్లో శివలింగం ఉంటే ప్రతి రోజు అభిషేకం  చేయాలని. అప్పటి నుండి నాకు తెలిసి తాను పోయే ముందు వరకు కచ్చితంగా చేసే ఉంటాడు.  ఆ అభిషేకం చేసే అప్పుడు మంత్రాలు ఇంటి పెంకులు అదిరిపోయే సౌండ్ లో మోగి పోయేవి.  అమ్మ తన స్టైల్లో నవ్వేది. మెల్లగా చదివినా శివుడికి వినిపిస్తుంది అని. ఎంతటి పని ఉన్న రోజు అయినా దీపాలు కడగకుండా, పూలు పెట్టకుండా, అభిషేకం చేయకుండా బయట పనులకి బయలు దేరే వాళ్ళు కాదు.

మా చుట్టుపక్కల పల్లెటూళ్ళలో పురుగుమందు చావులు తరచూ వింటూనే ఉండే వాళ్ళము. ఏ చావు వార్త వచ్చినా,  ఆ శివుడు కి నాలుగు పటిక బెల్లం పలుకులు పెట్టకుండా గేటు దాటిన గుర్తు లేదు నాకు. ప్రతి కార్తీక మాసంలో క్రమం తప్పకుండా మా పక్క ఊర్లోని శివాలయానికి  డబ్బులు, పెద్ద క్యాన్ నువ్వుల నూనె ఇచ్చే అలవాటు తనకి. ఇష్టం ఉన్నా లేకపోయినా కార్తీక పౌర్ణమి నాడు దీపాలు వెలిగించటానికి అమ్మని కూడా తీసుకుని వెళ్ళటం ఆనవాయితి.

తరువాత రోజుల్లో వ్యాపారం సరిలేక , ఇంట్లో పరిస్థితులు కష్టంగా ఉన్న రోజున కూడా అలానే నూనె ఇస్తే, అమ్మకి వచ్చిన కోపం అంతా ఇంతా కాదు. మానవ సేవే మాధవ సేవ అనేది అమ్మ ఫిలాసఫీ. చిన్నపటి నుండి అమ్మ అంతే. అలాంటి పెంపకం వల్లనో ఏమో గుడిలో $5 వేయటానికి నాకు చేయి రాదు. అదే ఎవరికన్నా ఎమన్నా అయింది అని తెలిస్తే, గో ఫండ్ మి కి $25 ఇవ్వటానికి వెనుకాడను.

ఒక పదిహేను సంవత్సరాలు ఫాస్ట్ ఫార్వర్డ్ బటన్ నొక్కితే, కొన్ని స్వయం కృతాపరాధాల వల్ల ఛిద్రం  ఐన ఆయన జీవితం చివరికి ఎలా ముగుస్తుందో, ఎలాంటి చావు వస్తుందో అని మేము ఎప్పుడూ బాధ పడుతూనే ఉండే వాళ్ళము. కానీ తను ఎక్కువ బాధ పడకుండా, అనారోగ్యంతో ఎక్కువ ఇబ్బంది పడకుండా, ఆ శివయ్య త్వరగానే తీసుకెళ్ళిపోయాడు. తన హాస్పటిల్ ఖర్చులకి, తన చావుకి, మందులకి ఎవరి దగ్గర ఒక్క రూపాయి చేయి చాచకుండా సరిపడా ఉంచుకున్నారు. అందరం వెళ్ళి జరగవలసిన కార్యక్రమాలు అన్నీ చేసి వచ్చాము. ఏనాడూ పూజలు శ్రద్దగా చేయని అమ్మ నాన్న అస్తికలు కాశీలో కలిపి వచ్చింది. ఈ సంవత్సరం ఎంతో మంది తల్లితండ్రులు కరోనా కి బలైయ్యారు. చాలా మంది దిక్కు మాలిన వారి లాగా, అనాధ శవాల్లాగా ఒక కార్యం, తంతు జరగకుండా ఈ  భూమిని విడిచి వెళ్ళారు. అలంటి ఏ వార్త విన్నా, మనసులో ఒక్కటే తలంపుకి వస్తుంది. మా నాన్న ఎంత అదృష్టవంతుడు?  లేక ఆయన పూజల ఫలితామా? ఆ శివయ్య అలా గౌరవంగా తీసుకుని పోయాడా అని.....

నాగిని, ఇది నీ కోసం. అమ్మ నన్ను వెంట బెట్టుకుని పనిమాలా గుడికి తీసుకుని వెళ్ళిన  సందర్భాలు నాకు గుర్తులేవు. నాకు ఎప్పుడు వెళ్ళాలని అనిపించేది కాదు. చాలా ఏళ్ళు అసలు దేవుడు, గుడి అని నమ్మకం లేక ప్రతి గురువారం నా ఫ్రెండ్స్ బాబా గుడికి వెళ్తే, గుడి ముందు దాకా వెళ్ళి కూడా లోపలకి వెళ్ళకుండా వాళ్ళ కోసం బయట ఉండి పోయే దాన్ని. బాబా తన భక్తుల్ని ఎక్కడ ఉన్నా రప్పించుకుంటారు అంట. ఇప్పుడు బాబాని నేను నామస్మరణ చేయని రోజు ఉండదు. అలా అని ప్రపంచం లో ఏది జరిగినా, అయ్యో ఇలా ఎందుకు చేసావు దేవుడా? నాకే ఈ కష్టాలు ఎందుకు అని అస్సలు ఎప్పుడూ అనుకునే రకం కాదు. మానవ ప్రయత్నం మనం చేసి మిగతాది దేవుని మీద వదిలేయటమే అని నమ్ముతాను . ఇది ఎందుకు రాసాను అంటే మన ఇద్దరి నాస్తికత్వానికి, ఆస్తికత్వానికి కొంచెం పోలిక ఉందనిపించి :) కొంచెం పెద్దయ్యాక మాత్రం  పండగల రోజు అయితే  గుడికి నా వల్ల కాదు అని అర్ధం అయింది. నాకు గుడికి వెళ్తే, దేవుని మీద భక్తి కన్నా జనాలు వేసుకునే బట్టలు, నగలు....పీపుల్ వాచింగ్ అనే ఒక మాయరోగం ఏడ్చి చచ్చింది. ఆ రోగాన్ని పెంచి పోషించటం ఎక్కువ చేస్తాను. సో, అదన్న మాట స్టోరీ. మొత్తానికి నాలుగు ముక్కలు రాయించినందుకు, నీకు బోలెడన్ని తాంక్ యులు అన్నమాట.

అలా థెయ్సం కి అథేయిజం కి మధ్యలో పెరిగిన నేను ఇవాళ రోజున కార్తీక మాసంలో రోజు దీపం పెడదాం అనుకునే దాకా వచ్చాను.

ఇంతకీ మా నాన్న పేరు చెప్పలేదు కదూ... నాన్న పేరు శంకర్. తాత పేరు సదాశివరావు. నాన్న వాళ్ళింట్లో ఏంటో అందరికి శివుడు ఫామిలీ పేర్లే ఉంటాయి. మా పెద్దత్త పేరు భవాని, రెండో అత్త పేరు వినయ, మూడో అత్త నాగరాణి.  నాన్న ఆఖరి  దాకా తనే భోజనం  పంపేది. నాగక్కా, ఆ శివయ్య నిన్ను ఎప్పుడూ చల్లగా చూడాలని కోరుకుంటాము.  What's in a name? I really don't know.

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Posted By Found In Folsom

I must be in middle school then. Amma used to make idlis for breakfast once in a while. And I literally hated every time I had to eat those white rocks. For some reason, her idlis were as hard as rocks. She would say that they were hard because the batter was made in a mixie and not the rock age method of stone grinding. 

Image courtesy: Here

Amma and I belonged to an era which graduated from stone grinder to the electronic mixer. There used to be an old man who came asking for alms on weekends. Amma thought he reminded her of her paternal grandfather. We used to tease her, Go..attend him..your Appayya tata had come. She would admonish us giving us those looks which we were very much scared of back then. Not now though. That weekend, idli happened to be the breakfast and as usual, we did not complete them and there were enough to give them to him. She happily went and offered them to him and came inside. He stood there looking at her and the white rocks in his hand. Held them and turned them around, looking around and then threw it back on the compound wall and left. We kids roared with laughter at the act and the treatment the poor idlis got from him. From then on, the joke stayed in the family. 

Mom never got better at making idlis until she came to the U.S. (This is our claim, okay!). She would even say, you need to eat them hot..that's when they are soft. When they become cold, they become hard. I always kept arguing that the street side idlis never get hard even when they are cold. 

After I moved to the U.S and had a family of my own, I got the modern wet grinder from India as I learned that's the secret for fluffier idlis. And I would boast to her that my idlis are softer than hers and that I mastered the skill of making idlis. I still did not like eating them as much but had to make it for the husband and the kid. One thing I never understood is when people order Idli in a restaurant. I have this expression that says, "Idli? Who in the world orders an Idli in a hotel? Don't they have anything better to eat?"

Facebook tells me it's World Idli day today. I was speaking to Amma over the phone a while back and she said, they ate idlis today. I told her that it's World Idli day and reminded her of her Appayya tata joke and she claims...Oye...not anymore...mine are as soft as cotton balls now. And I say, Yeah...right!!! Here's a Happy Idli day to all the idli lovers across the globe!

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Posted By Found In Folsom

She was there. Before I was born. While I grew up. She was there. She stood there on every occasion as our Mother, Grand Mother, and Godmother of all her siblings, their kids, their siblings, the kids' kids, and their siblings...Being the oldest of eight siblings, she always carried pride, elegance, and charm in her demeanor.

Out of your seven siblings and their kids and grandkids; be it my luck or the bond you share with your youngest sister; you have been there on every single major event of my life, Peddammama. 

You were the first pedda muthaiduvu to adorn my hands with bangles on my bride making ceremony. You were the one to make me seated for my engagement, you always received the first tambulam. For that matter, it coincides that you brought the first wedding proposal to me. I still remember how upset you were when the guy's family didn't respond for a while and how you chided that they send my photos back if the family is not interested in our proposal.

I was always proud that you were the first one to go on a flight when I was my daughter's age. Your stories from Singapore lured us for long years of my childhood. How your sister would boast and I could only see pure joy but not a bit of envy in her eyes. Only you could remember and bring gifts for each and every one of your nieces and nephews. You must have long forgotten what all you bought. The first tiny alarm which had a button to press and not a key. It made the cutest bird sound ever unlike the screechy alarms every one of us carried in our homes. That Gold Citizen watch.. And the Singapore Saris you got for Amma and Chinnakka..I can still remember the color and print on them. Oh boy! They just lasted for a lifetime.

Being the oldest child and the oldest sibling always comes with its own set of perks and drawbacks. Who else knows it better than you? If not for you, how else would pedda mamayya be the family doctor for the entire Moparti Siblings and for generations to come? I always felt sorry for some of your wishes not being fulfilled. I only thought I could have brought her here if she was my own grandma. But what did you not do that my grandma did? I wish I had all the courage, the liberties I have now, back then.  

You longed for people. One phone call and you would rave about it all the time with anyone who visited you. One small visit and it would go for years. I can't forget your amusement on seeing both my kids. We are your sister's grandkids but we were always Jayamma gari santanam. Only you could own certain subtleties. When you were alive, none of us bothered to tell you how much we valued you. I think that's the way of life. We realize and express our feelings only after the person has left us. 

Out of the few pictures of I have of myself; glad to be having some of the most precious ones with you. I know you are no more....I know you won't read this....but I am sure you will hear my ache to touch those wrinkled hands, to take those return gifts you save for us after each function. Your fuss over getting all the fruits plucked and packed for us will be missed. And our trips to Takkellapadu won't be the same again...That feeling of mandatoriness will be replaced by a new Vaccum. Why I write this now? Because I am not sure if I will lead a long life like you, if I will have your memory..I am afraid I will forget telling the stories of these memories to my grandkids....May you live the same grand life in heaven till we reach you one day! With all the love you have showered on us, we are truly blessed to share your legacy. 

 On my bride making ceremony...When I was in
an age when I just nodded my head to what has
to be done next....

Four Generations!

pedda: Oldest

Tambulam: Tambulam

Santanam : Offspring

mamayya: Maternal Uncle

Muthaiduvu: A married woman whose husband is alive

Scribbles

Posted By Found In Folsom

It was the year 93-94. I was in my Tenth Standard. Our school used to take kids on an excursion once a year. Most of them were one-day trips which were more like a picnic than a tour in itself. The day trips cost around Rs.30-Rs.35. It might look like a meager amount now but back then that was expensive for my family. Every year I begged my mom and she would say we will send you next year. Year after year, I kept waiting for the next one to arrive. Finally, I was in my 10th grade and that was the last year of school. That year the school was taking us to Hyderabad for a couple of days and the cost was Rs.100. I was quite keen on going but very apprehensive in asking mom as the cost was triple the usual price. However, I let my intentions and she agreed to send me that year.

The trip was nothing fancy. No first class train or hi-tech buses. Our school had around five school buses and all the students were loaded into a bus with 2-3 teachers to accompany. The bus would start around 10.00 pm at one central point and drop us back at the same place a couple of days later. So, why am I telling all this? Ah!! Parents were dropping their kids off on two wheelers mostly and the affluent in cars which were a few in number in those days. 

Coming to me, mom was single then. Mom couldn't come to drop me because she had to close her tailoring shop and had to go home late. I think she didn't come as it would be hard to find a rickshaw back home at that hour. She arranged a guy who worked with her to drop me at the location. So, how was he to drop me there? On his bicycle.  And I so didn't want this to happen but I didn't have any option either.

I didn't want my friends to see him nor wanted him to come anywhere near the bus.

I asked him to stop at quite a distance and kept saying, " Anna, I can go. you please leave.. you please leave". We know how responsible this brotherly clan is! Though I insisted I could take care of myself, he deemed that it was his responsibility to not leave me alone and made sure I was with my school people. For some reason, I could never forget that incident. I believe mom gave me an earful later. She must have.

I spent a lot of my childhood not fitting in, in a lot of different ways. 
                                                                                                   ~Wil Wheaton

As a teen, we are not comfortable with things in general at many levels. I believe it is because we want to fit in. Fit in comfortably in the friends' circles, in the society. It feels awkward to be the odd man out. I was already an odd man out for various reasons. For being loud, for not being pretty, for wearing glasses, for being a Tomboy, for being bold, for standing up for myself. For my father coming and meeting us at school which was odd; for fathers came and saw kids at school only for PTI meetings. I didn't fit in for many reasons I cannot fathom.

What reminds me of this trivial incident after 23 years? My son. Another teen in the making. He is embarrassed if I am standing in the queue to drop him off at the movie theater. The other day he said, "Amma no offense but can you stop babying me?"

Perplexed, I asked: "Babying you? Seriously?" He is embarrassed if I play devotional songs while dropping him off at school. He is embarrassed for everything under the sun. Why? Because he is trying to fit in. No matter which year of the century it is, teens are the same. The circumstances could be different, but the Trying To Fit In is the same. Not just teens, don't we all try to fit in in every phase of life?

Fitting in is boring. But it takes you nearly your whole life to work that out.  
                                                                                                                           ~ Clare Balding

Image Courtesy: Clipartfox.com
Quotes: BrainQuotes

Scribbles

Posted By Found In Folsom

Sankranthi, Pongal or Lohri as you may call it, is celebrated as the harvest festival across India on the 13th to 16th of January every year. Each state has their own way of celebrating the arrival of spring. For us in Andhra, we celebrate it over three days. First day is Bhogi, second day is Sankranthi and the third day is Kanuma. 

Starting with the month of Dhanurmasam (Mid Dec - Mid Jan) where the Sun enters the Dhanur Rasi, we start adorning our entrances with colorful muggulu. The muggu powder is made with the sand of lime stone. To give it a bit of smooth and white texture, we add rice flour to it. From amateur lines to huge designs, we progressed as we grew up. The size of my muggu would range anywhere from 5 to 35 dots in length. The bigger it is, the prouder we were. I wasn't a prize winner but I was almost an expert in making these beautiful patterns. Though a child, I would compete with the older ladies of the neighborhood in making bigger designs each day :-).  Mind you, these are not as easy as they seem to be. Getting the dots in a straight line is a challenge in itself. Our news paper would publish a Muggu each day. The first job in the morning is to grab it and practice it on a piece of paper. I would then neatly copy it in the fair muggu notebook that I duly maintained. The muggu would be decorated with Gobbemmalu (Cow dung balls), turmeric, kumkum and flowers. This is the stinkiest part of the whole process. 

Image courtesy: Nechcheli.com

It is a tradition to collect all the old and unused stuff of the house and set a bonfire called Bhogi mantalu in the wee hours of the morning. This symbolises the disposal of the old and the welcoming of the new. In the villages, elders watch out for the naughty kind who grab any piece of wooden furniture that is visible to use for their fire. Girls in teens dance around the fire singing songs in praise of lord Indra.

We take a special shower with sunni pindi (Herbal bath powder) and Shikakai and the entire family wears new clothes.

On the evening of Bhogi, we do a pooja and pour Bhogi PaLLu on the babies to kids. From months to 5-6 year old. Bhogi PaLLU is a mixture of Regi (berries, Indian plum), coins, flowers, sugar cane cubes, black chick peas.  Children are dressed up and they have a merry time collecting all the coins. We don't do the Bhongi mantalu or the Bhogi paLLu in my household though. May be we already grew up by then :-)

I have too many memories associated with the festival. One of the initial ones are the Haridasus that would go from door to door where we would pour rice in the akshya patra that he carried on his head. Like many things cultural, they are also becoming a rarity these days.

Pic courtesy: https://www.flickr.com/photos/rdkumarj/

As a child, I would eagerly wait and run to the main gate to look at the colorful Gangireddu and the Basavanna that went through the village playing their Sannayi. We would hand them down the clothes that are in usable condition. 

Pic Courtesy: https://www.flickr.com/photos/vijay_chennupati

I think I will stop it here for Bhogi and come up with a part 2 for Sankranthi...Thanks to Rachna for her Sankranthi post that triggered all these memories.

Muggulu - Rangoli
Gobbemmalu - Round balls made of cow dung
Bhogi Mantalu - bonfire made with cow dung cakes and old stuff of the house
Gangireddu - A Bull decorated with colorful clothes, bells and it dances
Basavanna - The guy who carries the Gangireddu
Sannayi - Clarinet.

Scribbles

Posted By Found In Folsom

It was one of those regular routine days of life. We woke up, got ready and left the home to our daily schedules. The kids to school and me to work. As always, the son reminded in the last minute that he had Special Friends lunch at school. The lunch was being ordered from his favorite food place. And as usual, I apologised that I will not be able to make it as I have to take half a day off from work. My mother jumped in to cheer him up saying she would join him for lunch. The perks of having your mom live with you! Content that something is better than nothing, the son left to school gleefully. I left home feeling gratified that mom is able to make it even though I am not and tried not to go on another guilt trip. I made sure to leave enough cash with mom for lunch for both of them.

I normally don't make phone calls during the day either to the husband or mom or kids' day care to check on them. However, I called mom to see if she was able to meet him at school and the lunch went well. To my dismay, mom informed that the lunch has to be pre-ordered and he was the only one who didn't have the lunch. What??? Yeah, he was upset and sad. Mom said she herself felt really awful for the kid. Cursing myself for my negligence and forgetfulness, I hung up the phone. I spend the rest of the day regretting which we moms always do.

I reached home that day filled with remorse and guilt. I apologised to my son profusely. I hugged him tight promising that I would never forget anything like that and would make it up for him. He said, he was the only one who did not have the pre-ordered lunch. While my sorry saga continued, may be he sensed that his mom might turn into a drama queen; he said, "Amma...that's okay. You didn't forget it on purpose. That's okay Amma". While I was almost on the brink of tears, he stood firm and hushed me in an embarrassed tone. "Okay, Amma, please stop crying. Now, will you cry for this? That's okay. I forgot to remind you earlier. That's my mistake. You don't have to feel bad about it so much". I had to be the silent spectator who looked at this grown up 5th grader in awe.

*Amma - Mom

This post is written as a part of 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion, where bloggers across the world are coming together to write their own experiences, feelings and expressions on Compassion. Glad to be a part of this wonderful event.

Pages from Life

Posted By Found In Folsom

Naani loved jumping in the puddles. However, today she was in no mood. She avoided them and stepped onto the pavement. She took the longest route yet  her house seemed to have appeared sooner.

Jayamma who was waiting for her rushed to her.

"Did you find him?"

"No, Ammamma. I looked for him in every street" Naani exaggerated. Jayamma was getting restless.

"Did you ask anyone if they have seen him?"

"I did. I asked Venkanna from who we bought the bananas. He said taata took the 5.30 bus to the town."

"He did?"

Naani nodded her head. Jayamma knew it. She knew it all along. She knew her efforts would be futile.  Her eyes filled with tears. Naani went inside quietly to change her wet clothes.

That night Naani lied down on the folding cot under the open sky and waited for Jayamma to come to her. The unusual activity made her tired and counting the stars; Naani slept off. It was past midnight when she felt a small chill and looked for the blanket that normally rested at her feet. She didn't find one. She didn't find her ammamma too next to her. She woke up to go and get the blanket. Jayamma was sleeping alone inside. Naani went and snuggled her.

Naani woke up late the next morning. It was second Saturday which meant two holidays and more playing with Sumathi. But today did not feel like a holiday. Ammamma was quieter than usual. Today she did not even have breakfast. Naani felt sad. In a small voice, she called “Ammamma”.

“Ummm..” There was a moan kind of whisper from Jayamma.

“Will taata come tonight?"

"No”, answered ammamma almost to herself. It was as though ammamma knew that taata wouldn't come home that night.

“Ammamma when will he return?", she asked dread filling her insides. She no longer felt like having breakfast.

Jayamma replied, "Monday Morning"

"How do you know?"

"You will see for yourself"

 Naani nodded and tried to understand.

****************************************************

Finally, it was Monday morning. Naani was brushing her teeth in their backyard when she heard the clank of the gate. Happily she ran. Her taata was right there. Ammamma was right all along!

"Taata is here!". She shouted, her mouth still full of toothpaste. But something was not right. His clothes were untidy.  Not just untidy, he looked shabby and dirty.

"Taata, where were you?" Little did she realize that he was half deaf. He smiled at her and went inside. Naani was surprised that Jayamma didn't say anything to him. She did not even look happy to see taata back.

She ran and tugged at her sari. "Ammamma, taata is home". Jayamma was silent. "Ammamma, taata is home".

"I  know, said Jayamma silently”.

"You were looking for him on Friday. He is home now".

"I know".

Naani didn't know what else to say. The silence was awkward. She slowly went and picked her books to write. She watched her taata brush, shave and go to the bathroom. Naani saw Jayamma rummaging through his dirty clothes. She went from pocket to pocket, only to find it empty. He came out with a towel wrapped around and switched on the iron.

Jayamma lifted the dirty dhoti with a stick and dangled it in front of him. "What is this?" Naani couldn't help laughing at her ammamma's sarcasm. Her taata yanked it away in a jerk. Naani felt scared.

Wearing a clean white dhoti, he walked out. Out of the same iron gate where she had been hanging for the past three days waiting for taata to return in big long strides. On the soft muddy roads hardening after the rain.

Jayamma slumped onto the floor and leaned against the gas cylinder in the corner of the kitchen. Naani ran inside. She knew her ammamma was about to cry. She was scared when elders cried. She wanted to hug her ammamma, tightly. Something drew her back. She stood there, silently. Jayamma held her last pair of gold bangles with her fingers loosely as if she was going to drop them any moment.

The house was filled with silence and it made Naani awkward. The same awkward silence Naani felt half an hour back. She bent her head pretending not having seen anything. But deep inside, she wanted to run. Somewhere where there was no silence. Where her taata didn't disappear on the Friday before second Saturdays, and she didn't have to run to the bus stand to fetch him, where her taata didn't come back with dirty dhoti and a stench on Monday mornings. Where ammamma didn't have to stare at the crumpled bills from the Kirana (Grocery) store and the current office with trembling hands, where ammamma would be wearing her last pair of bangles and not holding them between her fingers. Naani wished her taata never went to the clubs and spend his entire salary playing cards.

P.S: A special thanks to Sridevi Datta in helping me do a wonderful job in completing my first short story. Thank you for all your time.

Stories from Life

Posted By Found In Folsom

"Naani.... Naani", Jayamma called out to her nine year old granddaughter. Pressing her palms on the cold black floor to get up, "Aaaa...coming. What Ammamma? I finished my homework already. I just went to play." replied Naani with a frustrated face for being pulled away from the serious game of Ashta Chamma she was playing with Sumathi, the neighbor kid.

"Listen. Go to the school and accompany your taata  home"

"Again?"

"Yeah..Please go fast. Stick with him only. Don't let him leave you and bring him home". Trying not to show her frustration and disappointment, Naani set to run to the school which was at the other end of the village. It was a cloudy sultry evening. As Naani ran, dust rose from her rubber slippers and her pigtails wagged. When she reached his classroom she was panting. Beads of sweat dripped from her temples.  Wiping off the sweat with her frock sleeve, she composed herself and looked around the half empty class. Taata was nowhere.

She ran to the staff room and found the junior science teacher. He always had a smile upon his face and Naani liked him. Seeing her, he wished her and enquired after her well being and how the school was going. But today Naani was in no mood to answer.  She asked if he saw her taata. "I think I have seen him going that way". Saying that, he pointed towards the Principal's room. 

Having been to the school many times, she knew almost every teacher and was familiar with every room. She headed straight to the Principal's room. There she stood still for a minute contemplating. Do I go in or not? Do I knock before going in? Good Manners say that I do.  But who cares about good manners if I don't find him on time? Biting her last nail, she parted the curtain slightly and peeped inside.  Thank god! taata was there!

She waited outside. Impatiently. Each minute felt like an eternity. Her taata came out after ten minutes. Holding his dhoti in his right hand and adjusting something in his shirt pocket with the left hand. Naani jumped to her feet on seeing him. 

He smiled at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing. I came to walk home with you"

But taata knew why she had come. He knew Jayamma had sent her. Looking at her he said, "you go home. I have some work in the bazaar. I will come after some time."

She was in no mood to listen. Jayamma's words rang in her ears. "Don't listen to what he says. Just stick with him and no matter what bring him home". She was determined to not leave him. She argued. "No. I don't want to go home. You also come with me". 

Sensing the firmness of her tone, he said he was going to the bazaar. Naani decided to follow him. Her taata walked fast. He always did. It was hard for her nine year old legs to catch up the pace of her taata's. With each stride of his, she ran three steps. Her legs ached when they reached the bazaar. Nonetheless, she was proud of herself for not giving in and following him. Ammamma would be happy to see her with taata.

Naani all of nine years felt small beside her fifty year old taata. But she felt happy walking the red dusty roads with him. He with steady long strides and she with hopping beside him to catch up. There were clouds in the sky and very sultry. Finally they reached the bazaar. Her taata stopped near the bus stop.  

Taata met an acquaintance and started talking to him. Naani was getting impatient.  She could have played so many rounds of Ashta Chemma by now. But Sumathi would have gone by the time she reached home and Nagamani her step mom would also have woken.

Naani realized it futile thinking about all these things. Instead she would just drag her taata home.

Clutching his shirt sleeve, she started shouting, “Come taata! Come! Let's go. You finished talking to that man, na?"

Her taata leaned his ear toward Naani. He had been partially deaf forever she knew. She yelled into his ears. No use. The entire bazaar could hear her except her taata. Ammamma said his deafness was very convenient. He always heard what  he wanted to hear and not what everyone said. Naani’s words finally made sense to him "Let's get some bananas", he said. Naani was happy. They could go home after buying the bananas. She couldn't wait any longer! Maybe she could still play another round of Astha Chamma. She prayed that Nagamani would still be asleep when she reached home.

Her taata went to the nearest shop which sold cool drinks, candies, weekly magazines and bananas. He bought a dozen bananas and placed them in Naani's hands. He said, "Take them and go home. I will come after some time. I  have some work in the bazaar ."

Naani  was disappointed.

"No taata. I don't want to go. You also come with me."
But  taata was adamant. He promised her he would be home in an hour. Giving up Naani  headed home.

Jayamma was talking to the house owner over the parapet wall when Naani returned. Her pounding heart stopped for a second the moment she heard clang of the iron gate. Naani walked inside with her head bent and a dozen bananas in hand. Jayamma rushed after  her.

"Where is taata?"

"He said, he will come later"

"I told you to bring him home"

"He wouldn't...."

"I told you not to listen to what he says"

"I did ammamma. He said he had to go to the bazaar . I followed him there also."

"Then.......?"

"I waited for him for so long. He kept talking to people and looking at the buses and never listened to me". Naani who was holding her tears at the brink of the eye almost burst. Jayamma was in no position to listen to anything at that moment.

"Okay. don't cry now. Go and see if you can find him and wait there till he comes home."

"Okay, ammmama. I will", said Naani obediently. This time she ran even faster. The clouds burst and it started raining. She cursed herself and the rain at the same time.  By the time she reached the bazaar, she was completely drenched. But miraculously it stopped raining.

She looked around the place where taata left her. She went to the shop. "Venkanna, did you see my taata?" Having seen her many times with the Science teacher, Venkanna recognized her immediately. 

"Yes papa. He was with you a while ago, right?"

"Ayyo... Venkanna, after that. If I go with him, why will I look for him?"

"Aaaa...right...right"

 Finally Venkanna remembered.

"Oh, I have seen him get into the 5:30 bus going to the town. Did you not go with him?"

She went to the bus stand and sat on the bench. She knew he was gone. She tried to swallow the tears and the lump in her throat. What was she going to tell ammamma? Half an hour passed by. She knew it was no use waiting any longer. She dragged her feet home.

Ammamma = Maternal Grandmother
Taata  = Grandfather
To be concluded.....

Stories from Life

Posted By Found In Folsom

Dearest Sinu Mama,

Father is a girl's first love or hero as they say. For me, it was not my dad but my uncle. A little more than a dad, a little more than a hero. Yes, my maternal uncle. We all have a special bonding with that mama of ours, don't we? And mine was a bit extra special to me.

Unlike all maternal uncles who do that extra bit of pampering, you were strict with us. On hearing your Yezdi at the corner of the street, we would jump to pick our homework books and sit in our respective spots. As the first grandchild of the family, I had that special first privileges here as well. Off everyone, I was the only one who could muster a bit of courage to act as a representative of the younger ones.

You know mama, your anger scared me at times. But the fierceness of my thoughts date back to those growing up years. Those years when I saw you fight. Fight each day..I cannot even count the number of incidents that you have fought for. I wish I inherited that fighting spirit of yours more than I have.

I remember that day in my teens when I said, "I am scared" and you asked me  "Why?" That event unfolds in front of my eyes even after eighteen years. Till date whenever fear envelopes me, that one 'Why' haunts me to find reasons.

If not for you, who would have attended all the parent-teacher meetings in our school? Who would prepare those long essays for my elocution competitions? I know I had been a tough kid to handle. Thank you for all your patience and perseverance in trying to bring out the best in me. I do not want to make this sound like a thank you letter. There are no thank yous between a father and a daughter right? Yet, I can't fail to express the value of freedom you have given me in each choice I made in life.

My nature of bending over backwards for the people in my life is the biggest asset I have gained and learned from you over years. If there is anyone and anything to count on in the hardest moment of my life, it would be you.

Now you are on the path of spirituality and trying to make me walk along with you. I fail miserably even to take baby steps when you want me to do a brisk walk. Like everything else, I believe you will hold my hand and get me there one day.

I miss your quirky wit, your self deprecating and laugh at life sense of humor; above all your practical jokes. :D

Thank you for all the unconditional love you have given us all these years. You never failed to leave an imprint on every walk of my life. You are a true blessing to have!!

I just realised that I hardly have any pics with you and this one remains to hold a special place in my heart.

A Very Happy Birthday to you!!!

Pages from Life

Posted By Found In Folsom

As the world was busy celebrating Diwali, I was happy that S joined us finally after staying away from the family for a few months and I took a deep breath. On the other hand, the reunion brought smiles and sorrow at the same time. Smiles for all of us, sorrow for me. What kind of a person would whine when her husband joins after months? Coming to the point, the reason for my sulking is S bought a new car. Now, why would anyone cry if you buy a new car? You should be rejoicing with joy, distributing mithai and pictures on Facebook. Well, he bought a car of his choice and not mine.

Then began the process of nagging and reeling the flashbacks and reminding him on how he always bought the car he wanted etc...etc. Because this is a repetition of the car buying tradition. My frustration reached saturation and I went on thinking of all the curses that have been my prized possession over the years. My imagination took wings to paint the car saying, "I'm a piece of shit"!! Like those cars that are painted, " Just Married"! Gosh! Crazy girl! What are you? Nuts?? Peak of madness is what it is called.

I even wanted to smack it and whack it with my new mortar pestle. I fumed and sulked though he promised me to buy what I wanted after purchasing a home. I cried with my closest friends and confided all my devilish wishes of destruction. 

If y'all remember Scarlett O'Hara of 'Gone with the Wind' fame, that is exactly what I was trying to be. Trying not to think of the problem right now. I was okay as long as I didn't see that thing in the garage. I thought I was slowly getting over it. However, I swore I wouldn't step into it. 

This Tuesday, right before noon, we were all busy with our work. Some working, some chatting and some getting ready for lunch. There was a scream from the corridor outside our closed room. Something has happened. I wanted to go and see what has happened. But I didn't want to add to the crowd. After few minutes when I looked out of the window, I noticed the fire and police. Someone said they were doing CPR on a person. Within minutes, they took her on a stretcher. Later that noon, our manager informed that she had a cardiac arrest and she was undergoing a surgery. Not a good news to hear, but I was glad she got the needed help on time. I went to bed that night with a silent prayer. 

Next day morning, there was an email saying she passed away. She is survived by a husband and two kids aged 11 and 7. She came to work in the morning like any of us did, expected to get back home to her family like all of us. What's going to happen to the kids for the rest of their lives? With Thanks giving and Christmas round the corner, they won't have their mama with them? How terrible! My heart bleeds at the thought of the poor kids. 

While trying to sink in everything that is happening around, I talk to a friend on the phone that noon about this incident that happened at work. We felt sorry for the family and were discussing how short and unexpected life has become. Jokingly the friend says, and see you are fighting over a silly car. I smiled. No. I laughed at myself. 

Today morning after I pulled my car from the driveway and turned it around, I paused for a second, glanced at the new car for the first time. After all, life is short!!!

P.S: Rest in Peace Michelle May! You will be in our prayers!

S

Posted By Found In Folsom

                                               Image courtesy: Google Images
This incident happened a little over an year. After meeting my college friends, I had to stop at a relative's place before returning back home. I was pressed to stay longer than expected. My uncle promised to drop me home though I insisted on using a public transport. As promised, they started driving me back. I didn't want to trouble them as our home was quite far from theirs and he had to attend work the next day morning.

After driving for a couple of kilometers, I spotted a bus that goes all the way to our colony. I convinced my uncle that I'll take the bus and be safe. I inquired the conductor about the bus route and which stop I had to get down to reach my destination. It was not until I got into the bus that I realized there were very few passengers and all of them got down gradually. This was the last trip for the bus that day. 

The conductor figured that I was new to the place and started a conversation with me as to where I had to go. After I informed where exactly I had to go, I came to know that the bus isn't passing through the road I had to get down, due to road widening. However, I was told not to get down  in the stop that would be the closest; as I had to take an auto from there. The conductor advised the bus driver to take a different turn to reach the depot so that I could have the shortest distance to walk to my home.

The conductor also advised not to take any auto or a bus other than a Government run service bus at that time of the hour.  It was close to 11:00 PM. I could not thank enough the conductor that day and still feel a sense of gratitude for her, when I think of that night.

While walking home that night and later too, I felt the need for more and more women in public services! May be I would have been safe if there was a male conductor too, but for sure, he wouldn't have spoken of the safety measures the lady spoke to me. Of the caring and concerning talk she did with me. Instead I would get that look as why do you have to travel alone at this time of the hour and blame on the safeness of women? I salute her and all the women out there who have families to attend and are still performing their duties at odd hours, odd places with much care and concern for the sisterhood.

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Posted By Found In Folsom