Kaleidoscope
Coming
back from school, Ammamma used to pick us back from the bus stop. We
followed her as 5 little piglets. All of us were cousins of almost same
ages, 7 or 8 years old. Squatted on the floor, she used to feed us
curd rice with some left over Kolambu/gravy. A ball of curd time rice topped
with a pinch of kolambu. It was the most delicious of the food, because
we were hungry.
We
played with the cousins on the terrace, until dawn filigreed her gentle touches
of darkness on the evening sky. As if on a routine, the evening
velaku(lamp) will be lit, a small flickering lamp would be placed near the
front door of the old house. That 30-year-old puja room smelt of camphor.
At
this sign, my cousins will be promptly taken in. Complan in big silver
vessel will be steaming and made to warm for the cousins, to drink.
Washed and powdered, they were made to sit in front of wooden desks and start
to do their home work. The steaming smell of the complan and camphor,
remained with me till date.
Ammamma
used bring us outside on the porch, as an indication. The evening was
scented with heavy smell of jasmine (PITCHI/jathi mali), a 20 year old
plant. The darkness slowly crawls.
The
lamp slowly flickers…Amma and appa were working in Govt office. Standing
near the old grill gate, me and my sis, watched each person passby.
I
kept listening to each scooter that passed. I know the sound of my appa’s
bajaj chetak.
The
usual people that I kept staring on a daily basis were the candy floss boy with
his bell shaped Jar filled with white cotton sweet and his small lantern (we
pronounced it as lawnther). The dirty boy with folded lungi, who gave me
a smirked look. The short, dark milk man with his aluminum milk can. My
ammamma sits near the gate, two other neighboring ladies come and sit and they
chat.
Amma
and appa used to come at 6.30. Amma then teaches us our
lessons. Appa starts cutting the vegetables and getting ready for
the meal. Then amma sets to clean the fish or chicken or prawn and cooks
it for us. Fish was like a vegetable for us.
She
feeds us our dinner, telling us beautiful stories, pointing to rented fairy
tale books from a library. Was it the story that was beautiful or the
fish that tasted fine. I really didn’t know, but it was delicious.
Those
beautiful stories that I felt for in that tender age were Matilda’s Diamond
Necklace and The Little Matchstick Girl. She told us with a deep and sad
rendition, that I almost cried. I imagined the poor match stick
girl left to die in the cold.
Each
day spiraled on and on…
But
today, there were no signs of the familiar chetak. Instead a news came,
that a road accident happened.. I never heard the sound of that chetak
again in my life or the sad soft voice. Ammamma beat her chest and said
that I am cursed.
Suddenly
I woke up with a start, as the point where I had to get down came.
I slowly got down from the PTC bus. The conductor yelling medavakkam,’
get the ticket and give the correct change’. And walked reluctantly to my
apartment, my little girl mridula with wide open eyes and same dreamy
look, greeted me Amma. .
The
maid said that she kept on looking out for me for hours together..
