The air in the dining room is fresh and cool. The aroma of the fish curry served for dinner still lingers. It brings back memories of vacations spent at home in Kerala. The sweet scent of Ma's creams and lotions wafts from her room and fills my lungs reminding me of Umma and the nights spent watching her sleep in peace.
My grandmother has always been like a mother to me. The way she sat at the verandah early in the morning amongst the dewey and misty atmosphere whenever we would arrive from the station; the manner in which she would doze off at night after loading herself with her medicines, lotions and ointments; AND the way she's always beaming- memories come flooding back and make me long for her.
'THAAAATHAAAAA!', my sister calls me out and I am rudely shaken out of my trail of thoughts. Ruefully, I move from the spot where I was rooted in equilibrium, a few seconds back. Her room feels like an exhilarating tropical monsoon hut as the fan overhead churns the warm and cool air and brings independent currents of both down, around the room. The rain is pattering outside, provoking memories of Kerala again- the balmy air after the rains near the beach, the fishing ponds where me and dad would finally catch crabs because they made easy catches on the rocky surfaces...
My sister is complaining of her missing book and I only partly comprehend what she says because her words beating on my eardrums are punctuated with faces of relatives calling in on us to ask about my studies, about when Dad would join us and about everything they can ask. Then the stock of sweets, crispies, baked biscuits and "kattan chaya" (black tea) would be served, someone would make Tang for the guests and hearing the sound of guests, more of our relatives from the neighbourhood would come. And when they do, they do so from everywhere- the front door, the back door, the kitchen door, neighbours with their relatives, relatives with their neighbours. It soon becomes a carnival inside the house- some kids surrounding a kid playing games on the computer, some who've come over to watch the TV, a few ladies in the kitchen helping themselves, elders at the dining table- talking of who is up to what, some men-of-the-house discussing important matters in the living room and verandah. And me? I am sliding back quietly into my Umma's room filled with her delicate essence everywhere, just happy to hear the chatter outside in the conundrum I call home.
My grandmother has always been like a mother to me. The way she sat at the verandah early in the morning amongst the dewey and misty atmosphere whenever we would arrive from the station; the manner in which she would doze off at night after loading herself with her medicines, lotions and ointments; AND the way she's always beaming- memories come flooding back and make me long for her.
'THAAAATHAAAAA!', my sister calls me out and I am rudely shaken out of my trail of thoughts. Ruefully, I move from the spot where I was rooted in equilibrium, a few seconds back. Her room feels like an exhilarating tropical monsoon hut as the fan overhead churns the warm and cool air and brings independent currents of both down, around the room. The rain is pattering outside, provoking memories of Kerala again- the balmy air after the rains near the beach, the fishing ponds where me and dad would finally catch crabs because they made easy catches on the rocky surfaces...
My sister is complaining of her missing book and I only partly comprehend what she says because her words beating on my eardrums are punctuated with faces of relatives calling in on us to ask about my studies, about when Dad would join us and about everything they can ask. Then the stock of sweets, crispies, baked biscuits and "kattan chaya" (black tea) would be served, someone would make Tang for the guests and hearing the sound of guests, more of our relatives from the neighbourhood would come. And when they do, they do so from everywhere- the front door, the back door, the kitchen door, neighbours with their relatives, relatives with their neighbours. It soon becomes a carnival inside the house- some kids surrounding a kid playing games on the computer, some who've come over to watch the TV, a few ladies in the kitchen helping themselves, elders at the dining table- talking of who is up to what, some men-of-the-house discussing important matters in the living room and verandah. And me? I am sliding back quietly into my Umma's room filled with her delicate essence everywhere, just happy to hear the chatter outside in the conundrum I call home.
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