The wheels hit Madras harder than any other airport. Its probably the roads, or probably my mind. Happy faces, anxious minds, impatient to deplane and see their loved ones were all over. "Dei Machan did you check out the new fly over while we were landing?". "Semma hot la...and its almost midnight" all the jabber I usually enjoyed seemed to go over my head. I had spent the last twenty hours living through the flashes from my brain.
A quick flash. I could hear Charan singing while I struggled to pull the blanket all over my head in sweltering Madras heat to block it out so that I could sleep an extra few minutes before rushing to college. A pang of guilt and a small tear welled up. Another flash, of us fighting over a red frock donated by the benevolent U.S makkal. Did i let her keep it or steal it? I was 12 year old. Guilt again. And what about the time when "WE" decided that she was too young to be included in periyaval discussion? Did she finally sneak in or did we neglect her? Did I smirk at her being a temple goer? Did I tell her at any point that I actually loved the way she sang Andavan anbe and Koovi azhaithal, and that it is still ringing in my head?
And there were flashes from better times. Definitely much better. Saravana apartments terrace, humid Madras evenings, a mild breeze genrously donated by Mr.Marina, faded old nighties, one definitely extra large, and chatter all the way. Thats where all the girly talk took place. Everything under the sun that included and not included the male species of human kind were discussed. First crush, forgotten school friends, finally found love and lost relationships were scrutinized ,validated and enjoyed. Then there was the kitchen. The only kitchen that I knew of which had a fan, and the only one which could accomodate 5 women's constant chatter. Many a Stella Maris time weekend were transformed to ultimate fun with just a cup of coffee in chithi's kitchen accompanied by amazing conversations and constant laughter.
We shared stories of first days at college, stories of bunking class, forgotten homework, free-a vidu for 12th std and cliche engg makkal attitude, celebrated my U.S visa, her first job and most of all shared the bond of family and that of a great friend. But I simply did not know it.I took it for granted. I did not remember being particularly enthralled by her presence. But she had formed an integral part of me, defining the family without my knowledge. Why did I not take a moment to enjoy her as a person, or appreciate her presence? Did she know at any point how much she meant to all of us? That she was the voice of the family? Be it a temple visit or a wedding, or a fun road trip, be it a madrasa suthi paka poren or a mythrem bajatha, she captured it all. Not only with her singing but her so called "masti" air that she carried around her too.
Reality strikes now, really hard. All the unrecorded voice of hers, all the laughter, fun, the attitude taht lingered around her, the confidence she carried on her shoulders are now just a memory and quite a painful one. I hope there is a time when these memories are more refreshing than painful. I really hope. As of now, there is only a feeling of nothingness. In her own words, life is a little less sweeter than it was two months back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xDuDUPf6G8
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Colourless cribbing
A guy with a small jewish hat on his head, found the three of us at around the corner and decided to join us for coffee, unmindful of what we thought about it. Spotting a scarved moslem, a brown skinned Indian and an.. uhmmm lets say Europen together was his luck. I know people like this. In exactly two seconds, he is going to start quoting phrases from the bible, thinking we are women from a tribal land and have a shaky belief system and desparately need his help to deepen our faith. "So is the elephant God a symbol of strength?" would be his next question. I cannot take it, calling my dear thonthi pillayar "elephant god". I am not religious, but I can see myself becoming over protective of anything that is Indian and see myself feeling threatened by these "converters". I immediately surface all emotion that comes to missing home and a train of thoughts follow.
I dont really care about people who try to convert or people who think I am a barbarian because I have one God for every day of the year. I am frustrated that I for myself have just realised that India is the most exotic country ever. How can I even expect these people to understand my culture? We are the only ones who could have a different God, different food, different clothes, different languages or dialect every 500 miles and still preserve it, maybe with all the maamis wearing onbothu gajam, or with kolam, mavadu making, mukani padayal for new year, manjal kunkuvam, valayal, kolusu, kolattam, paatu class, pallankuzhi, thayakattai, etc.
After days of interospection I conclude that U.S lacks colour. Thats it. Thats what I miss the most. Its not the people who call us "those barbarians praying to the elephant God", or the noiseless traffic on the roads, or the repeated bland "veggie meal" at MacDo that I hate. It is the colourlessness. Mayil kazhuthu coulour, kili pachai, MS blue, Kathiri poo colour, vengaya colour, arakku, karu neelam and even govinda manjal that I miss. Its the Early morning beats of nadhaswaram and mirundangam followed by a theru, which has a few million colours that I miss. Kabaleeshwarar kovil gopuram, scaling up with every definable colour covering every spot, that I miss. The fresh green water sprinkled banana leaf sharing a stark contrast with the bright orange kasi halwa to the white pachadi and reddish manga thokku that I miss. This is what makes me miss India even though I have 3/4ths of my immediate family sitting right here. This is what makes me nostalgic when I listen to "Yeh jo desh hai", with full knowledge that I did not, or may not do anything for my country and that may not be the top reason for me to head back home.
I dont really care about people who try to convert or people who think I am a barbarian because I have one God for every day of the year. I am frustrated that I for myself have just realised that India is the most exotic country ever. How can I even expect these people to understand my culture? We are the only ones who could have a different God, different food, different clothes, different languages or dialect every 500 miles and still preserve it, maybe with all the maamis wearing onbothu gajam, or with kolam, mavadu making, mukani padayal for new year, manjal kunkuvam, valayal, kolusu, kolattam, paatu class, pallankuzhi, thayakattai, etc.
After days of interospection I conclude that U.S lacks colour. Thats it. Thats what I miss the most. Its not the people who call us "those barbarians praying to the elephant God", or the noiseless traffic on the roads, or the repeated bland "veggie meal" at MacDo that I hate. It is the colourlessness. Mayil kazhuthu coulour, kili pachai, MS blue, Kathiri poo colour, vengaya colour, arakku, karu neelam and even govinda manjal that I miss. Its the Early morning beats of nadhaswaram and mirundangam followed by a theru, which has a few million colours that I miss. Kabaleeshwarar kovil gopuram, scaling up with every definable colour covering every spot, that I miss. The fresh green water sprinkled banana leaf sharing a stark contrast with the bright orange kasi halwa to the white pachadi and reddish manga thokku that I miss. This is what makes me miss India even though I have 3/4ths of my immediate family sitting right here. This is what makes me nostalgic when I listen to "Yeh jo desh hai", with full knowledge that I did not, or may not do anything for my country and that may not be the top reason for me to head back home.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
pongalo pongal!!
“Hey manju happy pongal”...a voiced boomed from the phone. The voice and all its excitement was so out of place for the genomics conference I was at, at San Diego. “Any plans? Pongal panna poriya?”
“Chance-e ila...enga intha hotel roomla ukarnthundu…”
It did not even strike me that it was pongal. I went back into the quiet conference room, to a bunch of people who would never understand an Indian festival even if explained twice. Atleast if I was at “home” meaning Carbondale, I would have tried to recreate the situation drawing a kolam (all geared up like I am going skiing in the alps) and made a sakara pongal, sans jaggery , elakkai and mundiri (well I guess I should rename it now) and finally end up having a pot luck dinner on a weekend some four days after pongal. Phew! There is no point trying to recreate the festive spirit here. Just doesn’t happen.
Sitting in the conference room, I decided to just recreate it in my mind. With me getting up at seven with utmost difficulty , to early morning madras heat, to a house smelling a mixture of karpooram and elakkai, to some random carnatic music played in the background(speaking of which even if I colud never understand its intricacies, I have grown to love the sound of carnatic music and associate comfort feeling with it after being in the U.S), to coffee being refused at the moment due of heavy cooking happening, maya selling karpoora valli for an exorbitant price just outside the house, and appa trying to put all his artistic skills together in getting the vengalapanai ready. Nothing is going to substitute THAT, is it? That would be followed by the poojai and sun tv “pongal sirapu nigalchigal” watching. The food followed by the nap is probably the best for me. Then a lazy round of visiting follows, to catch up on my cousins’ lives who would mostly be eating morning’s left over vadai soaked in rasam or thair. I would just happily join them. Such is a holiday in the recent times (it used be even better a few years before, in Coimbatore) for me .
Well instead of complaining/feeling bad for myself I just decided to do what I could at that moment. What could be better than 70F and bright sunshine for someone who is stuck in mid-west all of winter? So I just laid back, skipped the conference and enjoyed the Californian sunshine at torry point beach. It was almost as good as pongal!
“Chance-e ila...enga intha hotel roomla ukarnthundu…”
It did not even strike me that it was pongal. I went back into the quiet conference room, to a bunch of people who would never understand an Indian festival even if explained twice. Atleast if I was at “home” meaning Carbondale, I would have tried to recreate the situation drawing a kolam (all geared up like I am going skiing in the alps) and made a sakara pongal, sans jaggery , elakkai and mundiri (well I guess I should rename it now) and finally end up having a pot luck dinner on a weekend some four days after pongal. Phew! There is no point trying to recreate the festive spirit here. Just doesn’t happen.
Sitting in the conference room, I decided to just recreate it in my mind. With me getting up at seven with utmost difficulty , to early morning madras heat, to a house smelling a mixture of karpooram and elakkai, to some random carnatic music played in the background(speaking of which even if I colud never understand its intricacies, I have grown to love the sound of carnatic music and associate comfort feeling with it after being in the U.S), to coffee being refused at the moment due of heavy cooking happening, maya selling karpoora valli for an exorbitant price just outside the house, and appa trying to put all his artistic skills together in getting the vengalapanai ready. Nothing is going to substitute THAT, is it? That would be followed by the poojai and sun tv “pongal sirapu nigalchigal” watching. The food followed by the nap is probably the best for me. Then a lazy round of visiting follows, to catch up on my cousins’ lives who would mostly be eating morning’s left over vadai soaked in rasam or thair. I would just happily join them. Such is a holiday in the recent times (it used be even better a few years before, in Coimbatore) for me .
Well instead of complaining/feeling bad for myself I just decided to do what I could at that moment. What could be better than 70F and bright sunshine for someone who is stuck in mid-west all of winter? So I just laid back, skipped the conference and enjoyed the Californian sunshine at torry point beach. It was almost as good as pongal!
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