Now how could I resist writing on this? Childhood is one phase that I have always loved reveling about! Though for today, I will limit myself to just the manjadikkuru episodes in my rather eventful childhood days!

I found them huddled on my doorstep!
Well to begin with, I had those naughty prank filled years sandwiched between Kerala and Nagaland and Mumbai, and it was during one of those getaways from Nagaland that I first got acquainted with manjadikkuru.
I had to sit through a Malayalam school for a week’s time (my parents thought that would enlighten me), and among the 20 odd classmates, I should say manjadikkuru was like an (invisible) celebrity! It was a prized possession that they even disliked showing let alone sharing with!
One day on a walk through those kuchha roads, I got this tiny shiny red and black seed.By the time I reached home, I had managed a handful. You could well picture me smiling like a king who had conquered a kingdom. I showed it to my grandma very proudly, but Oh! I was in for a shock, for she said this was not manjadikkuru , it was kunnikkuru. Angry, I rushed out to the muddy road and threw all of them there. It lay there to be tumbled, scattered, flattened, transported!
Probably the next time I was home, my cousin was ready with a gift for me. It was a tiny red seed moulded into a beautiful shape. At last I had one of them right there in the valley of my palm! I kept staring at it, wondering, how it acquired this shape? With little time left, I had got on a vain pursuit to find the tree that bore these beautiful seeds!

Before leaving I was forced (as children usually are) for a visit to the village temple. The kodimaram , surrounded by a grill, had 1000s of my prized possession scattered all around. It had always been there. And it is only now that I notice! It is surprising- you don’t really start noticing things unless you are aware of it, or unless there is a story behind it! There I was, straining against the iron bars to get hold of a bunch of manjadikkuru. And there was Ma too, taking me by the ears for stealing the prized manjadikkuru from the temple complex!

Post 20 years….
The thirst to experience the real blobbed in my head again, and the thought of the long forgotten hunt for finding the Manjadikkuru tree surfaced (thanks to Ms.Menon’s movie)! I was on a 2 day visit to the pristine village of Kanjhangad and I made arrangements to spot one there. Unfortunately, with my temporary memory loss, I forgot about it until I reached home. So there I was, on my bed at 10 in the night, talking to my parents, when I suddenly remembered- the Manjadikkuru!
‘Okei, Pa do you know of any manjadikkuru tree nearby?’ Pa scratched his head, searched the realms of his brain and said, ‘oh yeah there was one near the kizhakketheile veedu near nammude swantham john achayan’s…. you don’t know john achayan, molly kutty’s…’Ma cut the conversation by piping in-mole deepe, it was felled years back…! End of conversation!
All these years I thought I was living in a village, and god there is no Manjadi here…!!!!
My friend from Kanjhangad while all ears to my complaint that he did not show me one, quipped in- there is one planted at Museum, or better still there is one at our college (oh I know they are part of an arboretum) But my dear, what I want is the magnificent tree in the midst of a village, children playing around, elders engaged in conversation, children and elders alike competing each other while gathering the red seeds… Oh how do I make you understand?

Heights of madness!
One of these days, back in Trivandrum, I even dreamt- I was travelling to Kattakkada (a friend lives there, and my fantasy prone brain has already visualized it as a place shining in the glory of a village) and found the tree, all robust, the branches, some looming high to touch the sky while some bending down knowingly, just so much that I could break away one of those pods containing the seeds!

‘I suppose I do have one unembarrassed passion. I want to know what it feels like to care about something passionately….’ Susan Orleans, Adaptations

Deepa Sasi

Based in Trivandrum, Deepa Sasi’s words about herself : : After so many years did I discover…photography and writing capture moments…and so when I aint architect-ing, they keep me occupied!”
Read more from Deepa Sasi on http://ddzinz.blogspot.com/

And that I was once a witless wanderer

Clustered by the rusty spears as shelter

For my heart was placed upon the hills

So I focused on my dream to see it real

Then the blue bells lured my lone way

With colors of gleam risen from azure

So I tried to climb the hills in fortitude

But the path bore the greasy pebbles

So I slipped through the nights in vain

And the days seized the sun in wilds

And I kept my hope close to my heart

Soon an angel flew so nigh, at night

And rubbed her fingers upon my hairs

And said, “Path is full of crimson pearls”

“All you want is what you see, feel it”

And then I shuffled towards the hills

While the sun trailed from the woods

And the brook rushed from virgin rocks

For the path was full of crimson pearls

And each of them had a hearty tale.”

a poem from NJ, who describes himself thus:
“I believe in simplicity and see that every person has a tag on their neck saying ’I am special’. All of us are… Keep smiling… Love & Peace, N J

His poems can be read on http://www.facebook.com/njwrites & http://www.njzlife.blogspot.com/

We used to live in Bombay then and I would wait eagerly for our vacation trip to Kottakkal to my grandparents home. Ammamma would’ve kept ready the blouse and munduensemble for me to wear when accompanying my appachhan to the temple nearby.

Vacation also included the not so pleasant task of learning the Malayalam script. Schooling in Bombay meant no Malayalam in academics. However it was this routine inculcated by amma’s and ammamma’s insistence that helped me learn to read and write in Malayalam for which I’m immensely grateful today. (And today, we grandchildren faithfully ensure that our children also learn the Malayalam script during the vacations much to the latters’ chagrin.)
Afternoons were not meant to be slept away and it was time for sewing, hand embroidery. Reading was another habit which was gently enforced but that was a delight anyway.

The tri-sandhya neram - twilight hour would be ushered in by – ‘naamam chellal’ -the loud chanting of shlokas by us grandchildren sitting crosslegged in front of the ‘vilakku’- lamp in the puja room. The then youngest would also lisp along the complicated Sanskrit words enthusiastically. Ammamma made me learn a couple of chapters of the “Narayaneeyam” and the “Mookambika sthothram” . She would ask me to write the shlokas down along with the meaning and then chant it until I had it by heart.

Ammamma would write to me in English in the beginning until I learnt to write in Malayalam. Those days of no internet , email and even limited phone access, amma saw to it that I kept in touch with my grandparents and cousins by making me write letters to them.

When I joined college in Kerala, it was to my grandparents’ house that I came down from hostel. Ammamma used to be very protective and took care of all my needs. She would share her life experiences and taught me many things about life and people. She would talk about books, authors, poets. She had met many famous people in her time and she would share snippets from those memories. She maintains that Humility is the most important quality that one should posess. She often reminds us that Vidya- Education should beget Vinayam- Humility.

One of her morning routines included churning buttermilk in a brass ‘kutam’- a pot shining like gold. It was a pleasure to sit by her listening to her sing softly about the exploits of baby Krishna as she churned the buttermilk. She taught me to churn as well in the traditional way.

She tells me that one recurring memory she has of me is that of me as a baby crying out piteously for her from my mother’s arms as the train chugged out of the Tirur railway station when we were returning to Bombay after one vacation.Some bitter experiences have made her cynical in some aspects and she tends to be skeptical of new fangled modern ways. She can be quite acerbic in her reprimands.

Ammamma has been a very strong influence in our lives . She is well read and keeps abreast of current affairs and has a strong opinion on everything and does not hesitate to express it. She takes good care of her health and follows a disciplined routine. People who know her come to her seeking advice and Blessings. She gets invited to grace and speak at functions in our village. She commands a lot of respect from everybody around her. She does have a somewhat strict countenance which makes some people a little wary about approaching her. However once the ice is broken they realize that it is just a veneer.

After I got married and set up my home she has come to stay with me to help me out many times . First time was when I went back with my first born . The last time she stayed with me for an extended period was in ’98. I remember how desolate I felt after she left that time. Nowadays, she doesn’t travel too far due to health issues. I cherish the bond that I feel with her. I feel warm when people remark about how I resemble her in my looks.

( At this point, I stop trying to recollect about my ammamma and impulsively pick up the phone to speak to her. Her voice at the other end gives me a sense of warm reassurance).

Nirmala Varrier

An avid blogger who was a “Gulf Kid” herself. Now based in Trichy, she works for The Hindu Newspaper as a Resource Person in their Newspaper In Education Programme. Read more of her writing on http://ardramaamsandhyakal.blogspot.com

I made my first step to India when I was 4 years old. At that time, I was living alone with my mother, and we were here for a visit to some friends house in Trivandrum. I was French, I was white. It’s maybe the first time I felt so watched. People around me, hands, eyes, words… and me. But I was so charmed by all.

My dream? To become an Indian princess, in saree, with lots of jewelleries!

And then the lucky red seed came into our family. It was a man. The man my mum met at that time, at the French Embassy. Just 10 minutes maybe. She didn’t know at that time, that this same man would then stand by her for a lifetime. This man whom I call Appa today. The reason why I came back.

After their marriage, we used to come every year to our new family in Fort Cochin. We were always warmly welcomed. I met new people, got a little brother, two cute cousins, a great aunty and a strange uncle. I was so happy near my family. And when holidays were over, we would come back to France, for another year.

It was so cold suddenly. I can remember myself, 14, waiting in the cold for a bus which isn’t coming. When I breathe, it is like a gust of smoke. I join my hands, wait… keep waiting. Its not yet snowing… I reach school. Sit. I am a bit different. I can see those beautiful girls laughing, putting one more time some lipstick, and gossiping. I’m different. Getting a new boyfriend each week won’t help. I stay alone… look around. I got to learn so much. Silently. Watching, and waiting. Waiting the clock to ring.

If we look at it… it seems my life has been a long wait.

But not only that. One day… I came back home for lunch. My parents sat and told they must talk to me. Okay… That day was the starting point of today.

“We are going to live 6 months in India”

Shock… Silence…

“Well well well” I said. “And what about me”?
“You decide” they answered. “Do you want to come with us, or not? But give your answer quickly. For the plane tickets, you know…”

Same week, I met a man. When I met him he had some cards in his hands. He looked at me… put the cards in front of me and told “take one”. I took the card.  One near the middle, little hidden. (I am always trying to take the most hidden card). And I gave him. He told “The traveller. You are going to travel.”

I run back home. My heartbeats were too fast. My mother looked at me. I whispered “I’m coming” in a breath.

I had to leave all. The few friends I had, my comfortable life, my French family, my world, my school, the late bus, the cold air. I had to leave, to go forward. But it was so scary…

5 years have passed. I am still living between France and India.

When I came here, in Kochi to live, I was scared. Scared to be seen as the “French girl” only. It took time for me to meet some friends. My aunty’s family stayed in Iddiki. I was feeling quite alone. Not going to school as I was doing all my studies throught correspondance. Staying home…

Since 5 years, my parents have a charitable institution. My father is teaching yoga and my mother has a textile workshop to help some women. Their activities brought so many people to our home. More and more. Every day, coming and going. Always coming… but always going…

I started to dance. Bharatanatyam. I met some other girls little by little. I felt less and less different. I grew up… searching for the childhood I had lost.

You know, I have no place to be. No place to come from. I might be from France, but today, really, I feel my heart is Indian too.

Catching the culture, growing with it. Getting the manjadis, putting them in my pocket, watch the heavy rain falling, run, forget the umbrella, batting, making a 6… out!,  dancing, feeling the drops of my tears, the smile on the face, the life in the heart, watching them, understand the complicated me, flying, dreaming…

The manjadis in my pocket are making a small “clipclip” when I walk.

I’m 18, and by the way, my name is Iris. Some will call me Shanti.

I’m shared into two, you know. That french girl, and the Indian me. Cohabiting in peace. Just like all the manjadis in my pocket. Making some “clipclip” when i walk, You know.I passed so beautiful moments here. I’ve seen so many sunrises; I’ve seen so many smiles. And here, it’s full of coconut trees. They say its “God’s own country”. May He will share it a bit with me!

Iris Debieve

Iris Debieve spends monsoons in India and summers in France. An undergraduate student, she is moving towards her major in Indian classical dance.

Loads of lovely memories… scattered though…
> my pretty sis who could’nt utter one word in malayalam but wanted to watch ‘mazha peyyunnu maddalam kottunnu‘ everytime she was in Kerala
> Grandma roasting coffee beans every morning, grinding it fresh, the fresh filter coffee aroma walking us up
> My li’l cousin Kavita wetting the bed every night but curiously she wakes up dry & am all wet!
> first love letter this guy (he wud kill me for writing this) used to get me huge bars of chocolates (his dad worked in Cadbury factory)… I shamelessly ate all of them & said later that he is just a good friend!!

> running behind the elephant during temple festival
> running out hearing the ‘duggu duggu duggu’ sound of periyappa’s bike… to get the poppins he never forgot to get for me (without my dad’s knowledge
> all of us sitting together for dinner where dinner would be served in one big bowl along with ‘so called real ghost stories’
> playing seven stones in the large ground …
> playing carrom @ home when summer rains lashes out… my twin cousins who always are fighting for the silliest of reasons, throwing Bournvita on each other across the carrom board…It never occured to any one of us to get a new one…
> taste of first beer (stolen from dad’s shelf!)
> coughing over first smoke… that too sadhu beedi!
> the fun filled trips to Muthanga forest… bathing in the river… eating in the forest … sleeping in the cool shades…
> on the way to Muthanga the men used to break cocunuts in the ‘Gulikan Thara’ to see wild elephants…while the moms & aunts light lamps ‘not to see elephants’…

> The night when a black panther from Muthanga forest strayed in to our place killing a cow & a dog… Appa, Adu anna, Anand anna & Nambiar ettan going after it with guns… when Appa accidently tied both strings of his shoes together & fell in to the pond
> the panchayat elections when the local leaders would assemble @ our place and discuss international politics

Ø     My brother Anand anna, who introduced me to the world of books – he bought me my first books wen I was 6 or 7 – ‘Kabooliwalah’, ‘Panchatanthram tales’ … soon I graduated to  Vaikom Muhhammad Basheer.

Ø     The ‘porattukali’ by paniyar tribe & Kolkkali by ‘Kurumar’ tribe during vishu. The Porattu kali would invariably end with the song “pappadom chuttathum innu thane… Appane chuttathum Innu thane J

Ø     My dad was majorly in to politics – a congress member…We had this ‘Rowdy Raman’ who was a communist party supporter…Raman had a dog ‘Tippu’. When the political differences reaches burning point Raman would take Tippu for a walk (after his quota of ‘naadan vaattu’) through our road & sing “ Eda Tippu… Congress Tippu”

Ø     Vishu always was a huge celebration – we kids would hold on to ‘our’ allotted boxes of crackers like holding on to dear life… we would dry them in sun (Edavappathy would have dampened the crackers a bit…but not our spirits)….the Vishu eve would start with wearing new dresses. Appa always inaugurated  bursting crackers by lighting the 1000 mala… then there wouldd be competition with the neighbourhood people… every Vishu of mine ended with me having Sulfur allergy!

The Vishu day is the only earning period for us kids… so we take all the tactics – beg , borrow, even steal kaineettom ! Vishu lunch is special with ‘kappa sambar” Later in the evening dad would hand over tobacco, vettila & clothes to our workers. Once I tried eating the tobacco & puked all night.

Ø     Another memory is of death anniversary of my Grandfather when we all would gather & priest (vadhyar) from Calicut would come for the pooja. For help with cleaning we used to have the tribal people. But that day  the tribals are not supposed to be given food. The priest , bathed in ‘Vibhoothi’ would call out to the crow (considered the deceased) “ka ka ka”…I once heard the tribal help comment “ vadhyar pappan venneeril kulicha Nai thane… kaakene vilipparu… poochene vilipparu… ennalum namukkonjum thaararu (in tribal slang)

Ø     Those summers when sprinklers would be watering our estate… the wonderful smell of wet mud… the mangoes & tamarinds… the inevitable loose motions every summer!!!

Ø     During the coffee crop season we kids also would work along with the workers – we had our own small baskets for  harvesting… the money we ‘earned ‘ we splashed during ‘valliyoorkkavu ulsavam’ buying snake & ladder game, bangles, water pistols, colorful bindis…what not!!!

Am so happy that My Manjadi triggered off these sweet memories!!! There are loads more!!!

Menaka Ramanan

Menaka Ramanan lives in Bangalore and works as a financial analyst.

-In my childhood days  my real fun days starts  when all the  cousins get together for  summer holidays at Ammamma’s house. The  mornings  start  by brushing your  teeth  with “Colgate tooth powder” (which I use to personally  love because it was sweet!) or  with Umikari (used to  love that too  because our mouths  would  look  like somebody just lit  a  fire inside and it and whole  mouth was filled  with black ashes) or  the  option was to pick up a  Guava leaf.  One of the things we  loved  doing was to  climb on  the  gate of  Ammmama’s  house  and we used to sway the  gate to  and  fro .The momentum  of  the  ride increased  with  every  sway till one  of  our  mom’s  used  to  yell  at  us  and  bring  us  down. I  think  we  used to imagine  that the  gate  was  a bus  and  all of  us  enjoying the  busride.

-Then there  was  this  little  gal  who  used to  sell homemade sip-ups  bonda  and  parippuvada. We  used to gather all  the  ”chilllaraas”  we get  from every nook and  corner  of  the  house, gather the little  pocket  money we had and  if  we  fall  short  would  run to  our mothers to  lend  us 50  ps  to  buy  those. Icecreams  were  a  luxury  then  so  we  used  to  be content  with the sip-ups the little girl brought.

- One thing Ammamaa  loved  doing  was to give  us  Oil  baths. She  used  to   smear kuzhambu on  all of  us  kids till all of  us  looked  like  some  shiny  alien kids.  The oil  baths  were  never  complete  without  washing  our hair  in Thaali . So as soon as we were done with the oil smearing the  next action  was to  run  to  pluck  the leaves  and  flowers of  chembaruthi in order  to  make  the thaali . Used  to  take  turns to  grind the leaves  on  the  ammikkallu and  this  was a  good  way  to  spend  the  time needed  for  the  oil to  soak  deep into our  skins. Used  to  make so much, that we  had  so many  bottles  of  it  and the  leftovers were stored  in our  fridge for  later use. Of  course  we  were  generous  so all  the ladies  in the  family got a portion of our  hard earned  work!

-Now  coming to food!! Being  near  to  the  coast side we  used  to  get  the  best  fish  in  Elathur. Today  if  you  ask  me,  I  would  be  more  interested  in  eating the  fish  than  admiring  it  in its  lively  form! In those  days  the  fishermen  used  to  bring  home humungous crabs  in  buckets. When they open the lid  and let the crabs out,  they  moved  around in all directions.  Some  of  us  ran as  further as  we could   and  some  of  us  loved  to  tease  the crabs (of  course not  with our  hands, don’t  think  we  were  that  brave  then)  but  with  long  sticks.  I was so  amused to  see  the  crabs  running around  . Wonder  if  they knew  that  they  would  be  in the  curry chatty soon,  or  maybe they did  and  that’s  why they  were  running as  fast as they  could…

-Ammama’s house  had a  lot  of  backyard  space where there was this  lovely  jasmine plant that  gave us  flowers anytime of the  year. Every  evening  we  used to  pluck  the jasmine  buds  and  Ammamma or aunty  used to tie them with vaazhanaaru  and all the  gals used to  keep  them on our  hair. Soon after this  did  we sit  in the front kolaaayi to  sing our sandya naamams and after that  would  play the game Pulinguru (tamarind seeds).

-Another place we loved to  be  was  near the  mango tree which  was  right  above  the  small  outhouse .  Used to sneak out to the  terrace to pluck  mangoes  and  have  it  with  chilli powder  and  salt.

We  always  would  forget  to get the accompaniments and  one of  us use to  sneak  right  back  to  the kitchen to  get them (who usually is  the  last one  to reach the terrace) . The key, was to  get them from the kitchen without the  elders  noticing  because none of  them approved of  this!!  Reason 1 –  our  tummies  would  go  for  a toss  after  eating this,  and  reason 2  - they thought it was   dangerous  to  climb on the tree which  was pretty high… Thankfully none of  us  have  broken our  bones  in the  act!  Savoured  every bite of those raw mangoes. I  have water  in my mouth just  thinking about  it…

-Another  memory  I have is  from the night  we  heard  Ammamma’s  cow  giving out  a long  cry  and  all  of  us  ran  to  see what  went  wrong.  To  the  kids’  astonishment  we  see the  cow giving  birth  to  a  baby  calf… All  of  the us waited  near her  with  petromax lanterns for  hours and hours…  until  the little wobbly  one  came  out  of  the  womb. It  was  kind of a  ghastly sight! Next  few  days  all  of  us  kids  were  around  the  calf and  the mother cow  was  so  protective  about  its  little  one  and  wouldn’t  let  any of  us  near  it.

These are few of  my  Manjadis  that I  treasure  close  to  my  heart. (sigh)

Cheers

Neema Naveen

Neema Naveen is based in Dubai, UAE and works in the HR sector.

I remember the red sky at the night, and the gently wind that blew from where I have come from… I’m an Indian… I belong to a picturesque village where the farmers used to live their life in utmost simplicity. Poovathur – 13 kms from Tiruvalla.

Today, as when I scribble this note on my laptop, my memory takes me away to the grand Eighties. I am not too old, and I don’t need to be told. There was I, and my friends, and a field where we used to fly kites. The green field always tempted us. I was close to my grandfather. He is my inspiration. He used to say, “Hard work can conquer anything under the sky”.  And my mind craves to pick a shell from my memory lane. Now, I remember those endless nights where I used to carve such beautiful pictures of a place that I can never forget. We were a bunch of young blood. At dusk we used to meet, to share about the incidents that took place in school. I remember the times we shared food with each other. In life the biggest asset is love. I am pleased to feel the endless love at a very early age. But it was from my friends, and of course my grandfather.

My grandfather was into politics, and once when he won the election, he was awarded an amount as an appreciation. He didn’t use it for anything. And I remember the amount wasn’t too huge. But it was for me. He received 1000 Rs as a reward. He didn’t use it. Instead, he bought me a cycle. Have you heard of bicycle days? Oh, yes… I have… Years passed by… Life changed drastically… I drifted apart from that beautiful world… to the world of agony and hurt… But on my mind, I kept this shell… My private library… Memory… Memories never die…

I visit this place every year… Whenever I visit this place, I walk through the same pastures once we played at… The same place where we attented tuitions at… The same place where we exchanged our first smile… The same place where my grandfather used to teach how to ride a cycle… Today, he is not in this world… But at a distance, he stares at me, smiling, and saying “Go ahead… the route is clear for you…”.

Nithin Jacob.

Nithin Jacob works in Saudi Arabia in the software sector and is on his way to becoming a published writer soon. Read more of his writing  on http://www.njzlife.blogspot.com/

- The food… breakfast to mid morning snack (mangoes!) and lunch (I remember the big tall pappadum box the most) and so goes the list. Ammamma used to make this super tasty chicken (even though she is a vegetarian) and also an awesome masala curry.

- My brother Vinod, elder to me by four years, was a skinny child and I was a nice round healthy kid. So Ammamma would take ghee in a spoon, sprinkle it with sugar to make it attractive and chase Vinod to eat it. Most of the time he would run away and I would be right behind her, ever ready to gobble the yummy spoon of ghee!

- My favorite things were the trip to Tiruvilwamala downtown (Chungam) with Chinammu (the maid at home at that time) with a bunch of pocket money. I would end up buying all the girly things like dolls and bangles and fancy necklaces and paint.

- I remember once Vinod dreamt of a snake or something of the sort and Ayyapesan- the local farmhand- had to do the thing where he holds something in his palm, murmurs something and moves it around Vinod’s head and asks him to spit into his hand after every 3 rounds. I was so sure Vinod was having too much fun doing the spitting part!

- Once I got my leg stuck in one of the window grills and cried so hard till Ammamma came and rescued me.

- My high point on some days was to go with Chinammu to the pond where she would wash the clothes and I would return with some floating plants in a little copper bowl filled with water.

- Vinod once took an adventurous trip to Palakkad and went to a toy store and bought Scotland Yard (the board game). Since we needed 3 people to play this game, anyone who visited was forced to play with us. The servants, the neighbours, the occasional visitor- no one was spared!

- I remember Ammamma’s trunk call booking process which would get her so stressed out.

- The watchman who would keep scolding us because he could not sleep while we watched some Doordarshan in the night.

- Vinod’s expedition to graduate from being the regular lantern expert to the petromax guru:) He was so fond of lighting it!

- There was a Gopalakrishnan Nair who would run errands for Ammamma. Everytime he had to go to chungam, he would spend at least 15 minutes in front of a little tiny mirror combing his hair.

- Watching Chinammu grind the dosa mavu effortlessly in the afternoons.

- Wearing mylanchee/henna on my hands… Eating chakka ….over eating chakka… Opening the old chest in the living room and looking at all the old pictures of Veliachan (our late grandfather), his clothes, his letters…. Taking out all of Amma and Uma Valiamma’s old clothes from an old suitcase and trying them on… Playing pulinkuru on the front veranda table.

- Evenings when Ammamma would bring out the lamp calling out deepam deepam and then smearing bhasmam on my forehead.

- The smell of the white sugandharaj flowers from the shrub in the corner of the front garden and many such impressions that remain etched in my mind.”

Lakshmi Menon is a software engineer based in San Francisco.

“Acceptance. Thats all what Vaikom was about. Tucked away between the Ithipuzha and Vembanad lake, little changes there. The drive from Cochin is breathtakingly beautiful. Green all around with the sun filtering through in green hue, green rays of light through the foliage! The old bridge across the Ithipuzha with luxuriant coconut palms lining the river on either side. The tiny patch of island right in the middle of the Murinjapuzha river with interlinked canals and canoes and people out on their coconut felling sprees. The tiny wayside shops with the smell of freshly fried fresh water fish. The drive has offered the same sights for so many years! The familiar feel of going home…. Country roads/ take me home/……

My earliest memories of this tiny town are about the school summer holidays when I would be packed off to my maternal grandparents’ place here. An old house surrounded by thick green vegetation, and paddy fields a little across, this became a fertile field for my imagination to run riot in my childhood days. Joined by two other cousins, we would find endless sources of inspiration and entertainment here. Since we girls were the majority, the other hapless little fellow would have to tag along and join us in our girlish games!

If it was a lucky day, ammumma would allow us to bathe in the pond where Shanta, the house help would be washing clothes. By the time we would finish, it would be mid morning and Shanta would have finished her laundry by then and hung up ammumma’s and appuppan’s mundus all white and starched crisp. During the holidays ammumma would have a nice little swing put up for us in the compound. The swing was always a centre point of most of our games. It would be the mango season then and raw green mangoes with a dash of salt and chillies and ripe golden yellow sweet ones always found eager takers in us.

So too the juicy pink chambakkas on the huge towering tree right in front of the house. Ammumma would not be totally happy with us just frolicking around all the time. So she would get us Amar Chitra Katha books from the local library and reading had to be part of the holidays. So too, much hated sessions of Maths and English taught by the college student next door! Thus we all got hooked to reading. Later on when we were much older and would be found sitting absorbed in books in various parts of the house, she often had to reprimand us saying, “this is a home, not a reading room and library!” Appuppan was a quiet person who would very stoically put up with three noisy children (the rest of us were abroad then!) running around and upsetting most of the curios in the house. At 4, every evening, Krishnan the man friday would bring the cows back to their shed from the various parts of the compound where they would be grazing. I remember one particular cow ammumma called Rambha!!! It was always an awesome sight for us, watching Krishnan mix their feed in huge bowls with a huge ladle. We would stand and watch till the cows had their fill slowly, their tails gently driving flies away! After that we would help ourselves to ammumma’s cutlery and conduct our cooking experiments using the powdery white sand. Of course we weren’t disciplined enough to put them back and she would come scurrying at dusk and dig out spoons and plates and knives shooing us away for our evening baths.

Those days in Vaikom, late evenings were dimly lit due to the voltage problem and we had to finish all our reading before that! My imagination would be a source of endless agony for me with every little corner seeming awfully spooky. We would have to gather flowers then for the evening puja, which we would do most happily. Ammumma would then sit in the front verandah and string garlands using vazhanaaru and tell us stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. She would try to teach us how to string them as well, but the flowers would only clumsily fall from between our fingers!

Once after repeated requests from us, Krishnan built us a tiny thatched hut with two rooms in the compound so we wouldn’t have to trouble our imaginations to create our own ‘house’! We were terribly excited and after thoroughly cleaning up the place and arranging some of ammumma’s cutlery in there, we proudly invited them to ‘visit’ our ‘house’ the next morning. It was to be our ‘housewarming’ ceremony. We insisted that they come in their best clothes and most obligingly they did so. We had arranged a few toffees to give our ‘guests’ and we all walked in, in our best attire. Appuppan and ammumma very kindly made some polite noises and we beamed happily. Right then an army of red ants started charging at us from all sides sending all of us scurrying out of the house in great hurry. The housewarming and the house were happily abandoned then and there and Krishnan promptly demolished the house.

A very colourful and happy memory of Vaikom is the talappolis that we girls had to participate in. Local little temples would have these little festivals which would include talappolis, or women’s procession from one temple to another to the beat of instruments and chanting. Ammumma would have prayed that she would make us participate and we would go gaily dressed in traditional pattu pavadas carrying a lamp in broken coconut kept in a plate which would have sacred rice in it along with flowers. Women would chant, occasionally come to say hello, little children would scamper about enjoying the sights and sounds of it all. Temple visits were a very integral part of our holidays. The Vaikom temple with it ancient oily stone walls and the huge compound with banyan trees and an occasional elephant were major attractions. Visits at dusk were most peaceful and we sat in the compound enjoying the breeze carrying the fragrance of agarbattis, oil and sandal paste. So also the Udayanapuram temple close by which totally captured our imagination because of the presence of peacocks there, a rare sight in Kerala. Our visits were mainly to watch them with awe, rather than to pray, and go and brag about it later in school!

The simple sight of grandmothers with their silvery white hair, content faces with sandal paste on their wrinkled foreheads, dressed simply in fresh white mundus with the smell of the sun and wind in them, going about their chores silently – something we so easily took for granted those days – is such a rarity in today’s times. Contentment too has become such a rare quality! These days we have them removed from their natural environs in such tiny villages and moved to small apartment rooms, captive in our worlds.. I guess we are the last generation to have had the luxury of a childhood close to nature and a natural world. It was pure joy to get dirty playing in the mud, not have computer games and gizmos to keep one company!

Memories of Vaikom are about all these things… A noisy, bratty, naughty childhood in the best possible setting for such qualities to prosper! Grandparents who have always been epitomes of tolerance! Cousins who’ve spent all our summer vacations with me messing up in the sand and catching fish in tiny streams, ‘running away’ from home to the nearby paddy field when someone scolded only to be caught and beaten mercilessly with flimsy sticks of eerkali from coconut leaves! And about a strong sense of security that comes from belonging, being part of a large family.

So thats Vaikom. Acceptance with a big letter A.”

Sulini Nair is a classical dancer with a flair for writing & design.