Author: ksyamala1954

The Shepard

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As restricted to night phone calls after 8 pm for various reasons, I was a little weary when my mobile rang that night. Well! On the other end, it was none other than my eldest sister from my homestead.

” Oh, are you asleep?” my sister asked. 

“Ah.” I couldn’t resist showing my indifference to disrupting my sleep. “Why this late-night call? Anything urgent?” I inquired. 

“That shepherd boy passed away,” she told me as if telling something dreadful in a lower voice. 

Now I was in a dazed mind. The sleep that was twittering in my eyes was no more present. Instead, I was between reality and a dream phase that took me into an era of black and white where the reels unwound vigorously and stuck me in a pool of haunted memories.

Everyone agrees that we have fond memories of our cherished ones. Memories, we keep safe in the vault of our hearts. Whenever we want, we can unlock it and enjoy those catches. But now, I found another chest in our mind. A chest of unpleasant and weary memories we love to look back on safely fastened in a double barrel, but it came out like a citadel. There was space for the adorable as well as the haunting memories. Yes undoubtedly.

It was drizzling but not raining hard. I went down to the water’s edge of the small stream. I found a small rock on which one could sit dangling one’s feet in the cold water watching the little fishes swim. I spat on the water, and so many slimy fishes flashed to swallow my saliva. The sight was exciting while watching and oozing the bubbling water beneath my feet. The sun was scrambling to say bye to the earth. I felt some scary sounds nearby. I wanted to rush to my home, but my eyes were smarting the scene behind me. 

A boy and a sheep were there, the sheep was chewing continuously, and the foam started flowing from its mouth. He holds a rope in his hand with which he tied the sheep; his looks are blank, emotionless. I became aware that I was alone and scared.

“Hey, what’s this”? I asked, crying. 

Suddenly the reply came “goat” in a husky voice. Within no time, I got up and ran like some wild animals chased me. 

I just wanted to catch fish to keep them as my pet in the glass jar I hid in my bag. That was my secret plan. Unfortunately, he and his goat ruined my plans. My glass jar fell and broke while running, which I collected after much effort. I was disappointed and angry while seeing the boy at a safe distance, like a weird painting somebody brushed on the canvas of the setting sun.

The sky was dark with clouds. I had to rush home before the spell of rain. Black hair streamed across my face, and my heart started pumping, vigorously making a thud. Suddenly, it began raining in a swift hiss as water began trickling to my head and face and streaming toward my body, but I was oblivious. It was getting darker, and I had to go furthermore to reach my home, and I was all alone. Then, he and his sheep began moving toward me in the opposite direction. It was a narrow lane, and there was little space available. I closed my eyes but felt him and his sheep in my body.

That night I couldn’t sleep properly. I wished to share this with somebody, but scared, so I kept it a secret. I hid the urge to open up due to my incapacity to find a trustworthy companion my age. I need shelter under the peepul tree, the sacred tree that splitters were eagerly fanning me from the hot summer inside me in my dream. I wished the holy tree would ward off the evil eye of the tricky boy, the abode of the evil spirit, I thought.

I spotted the boy here and there driving his goat on my way like they were devoted companions. Sometimes he followed me behind to some distance; whenever I saw him. So I started running and hurt myself by tumbling upon the stones, drenched and soiled my clothes by the puddle of water in the paddy field on my way home.

As days went by, even though I was shoddy at Mathematics, I was not interested in further following the tuition classes. However, my paternal aunt was the one who recommended my father and convinced him to enlist in the tuition, as I had to attend and return only after twilight. So one day, I approached her, who was living nearby. She made ornamental ‘rentas’ using coloured thread with steel knitting needles conformed to women’s undergarments. She was a master craftsman who lost her husband at a young age. When I noticed she was in a good mood, I tiptoed and sat beside her. I watched her skilled hands knitting beautiful ‘rentas,’ which I wished to master myself but was refused by her because I should give more importance to study.

“Aunty, I think I should stop attending tuition classes,” I said in a low voice. 

“Ahha… Why?” She was curious to know the reason as I was the one who insisted on going. I narrated my woes to my aunt. She heard me and grumbled and agreed to come and confront the boy. 

She asked me what he looked like, and I said: “had two horns, a tail, the colour… white with dark spots”. Upon hearing my narration, my aunt’s jaw dropped, and with a suspicious look, she asked, “is it an animal?” 

“Yes,” I affirmed, “he and his goat.” 

“Aha…now tell me something about the boy, his name, house,” my aunt asked.

I told her I did not know anything. Yes, I revealed my ignorance. Who wanted to know the details of a dirtbag, and how would I have enquired about something I was ashamed of to somebody? As days passed, it was a holiday and a festivity day too. I was attending the marriage ceremony of a close relative. Although there was usually a small crowd, I spotted the boy to my dismay. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Embarrassed, I ran toward my aunt. She was chatting with her relatives. Restless and panting heavily, I held her hands and showed the boy. “Aunty, that is the devil.” “Ghe”  she made an unusual sound while hurrying towards him. I was waiting for something to happen, at least some cuss words to the gawking stupid while watching anxiously in the distance.

The sight was heartbreaking. Now my aunt was laughing and talking to the older man with the boy. I saw her hugging him and patting his head lovingly. Oh, that was unbelievable and unbearable, a cold chill started spreading over my body, and I could not stand upright. Tears started flowing, a state where everything was silent or simply absent, a position ready to be missing in the crowd, more than a raindrop in the drizzling wind.

Now a funeral pyre was lifting like fires everywhere, half hidden by the smoke, but I couldn’t draw a picture-perfect of my one-time nameless enemy. A farewell necessarily brought up tears and those memories popped even if the contact was once irritating and shameful. So I am here watching the fire engulfing thousands of adolescent whims and fancies perishing in the flame. Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly yet sadly on the heart. I couldn’t validate my thoughts like a true friend doing lots of self-care, an enemy who brought trauma and pain, and now the news of his demise would also feel upsetting and a cause of heartache, which felt like making a vacuum in the mind that I didn’t want to fill.

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The Deluge

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The sky was murky
With monsoon clouds
Dark green was the jungle
To receive a warm rain.

Arrived at the first shower
Flowers bend with the wind
Whipping the raindrops,
To my sleepless nights.

Rain starts singing a lullaby
Rain plays a little sleep hymn
Let's walk in the rain
Barefooted, bare-legged
Get wet in the rain,
Get drenched in the woods,
Moved about in the drizzling.

Let's smile like an umbrella, 
Which never goes up.
Let's snigger in joy, 
Like a toddler, 
With a face full of charm.

A tear made a hole in the stone,
Sky banked with clouds,
Thunder rolled down from the hills,
The roof was leaking,
A swift hiss carried away the pebbles.

The river was swollen, 
And crept over to the bank, 
The world transformed, 
As a vast river.

I saw a little boat
Moving swiftly down the river
It was full of hope
Stroking smoothly, rhythmically.

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Venal

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Our long hasty days-the hottest of the four seasons and its coming duly brought happiness to the mind of the children because it was the onset of the summer vacations. The blazing summer was otherwise not felt friendly. 

Could you imagine a person living without taking a bath for weeks or months? That was my paternal grandfather, Govindan Appooppan. His bathing was restricted to four days a year. Yes, you read that right. One during Onam, then for Deepavali, again another one before Vishu, and, the last one during Uchara. During these days, there were pujas(prayers) conducted in the ancestral shrine, and he was the one who conducted and performed pujas. The older people in the house mumble jokingly, that he was allergic to water. He always wore a lungie, a cloth wrapped around the waist and worn by men. It came up barely to his knee. Its original colour was unimaginable because washing the attire was also like his bathing behaviour.

With the long dirty nails he had, he loved to scratch his body. His pet cow liked to lick the salt and tasted the sweat of the exposed upper posterior with her coarse tongue. He adjusted his posture to make her efforts viable and made sounds like sh….sh….just like he was in a trance. The cohabitation between the two was a compelling sight.

Uchaara fell in the Malayalam month of Makarem, and the special offering” therali appam” was prepared under the guidance of Govindan Appooppan.

Rice flour mixed with jaggery, plantain, coconut, and a little bit of cardamom powder was filled in the cinnamon leaf tucked like a cone and steamed in a big brass vessel. Almost everyone including children was taken part in its preparation. At twilight, the shrine was lit up with lamps, and pujas were enacted to the main as well as subsidiary deities. As pujas and offerings were divided among those assembled there, and we were eagerly waiting for munching our the due share.

During Deepavali grandpa would donate some coins to my mother to buy coconut oil, as a part of the ritual to apply oil before an early morning bath. I didn’t like oil massaging at all, so blindfolded my mother and rubbed oil with my clothes. The most intriguing thing in Deepavali was watching grandpa bathing. He wore only a loin cloth and massage oil all over his body. Using a pail, he drew water from the open well and poured it over his body, rubbing hardly using an incha(bark of a tree used to clean) with red Carbolic soap. Now the dirt started trickling with water to turn its colour dark and grandpa’s body transformed into golden colour. 

The bathing extravaganza came to an end by wearing a neat lungie and applying a pinch of vermillion to his forehead from the ash bowl dangling in the verandah. Watching and enjoying the whole thing I sometimes go near him to smell the cleanup grandpa. At times he smiles at me, and that was enough for me to get excited because it was a rare benevolent edict from his part towards me.

During daytime he was busy in his “aala” (workplace near the main building). That fateful day I noticed grandpa was not around the hot fireplace. Usually, he never allowed us in his workplace, talking this opportunity I approached the igniting fireplace, where I saw a coconut cutta nearby, and simply put it in the fire. As the cutta caught fire I was afraid and threw it away, accidentally it fell on the sliding thatched roof and caught fire. “What would I do??” Out of fear an unusual sound escaped from my throat. Watching the fire spreading the mynah, Uppen, and parrot resting on the mango tree in front yard made a cry of shock and flew in different ways. 

Now I was in my grandpa’s quick and wicked hands. While preventing the fire from further spreading he hold my ear tightly and slapped my back with his stick. One, two, and three. I cursed those moments and somehow managed to escape from him. He dozed the fire but fumes and smoke spread and scented the area. A squeaky little voice began talking and consoling me, that was none other than the little parrot who was a frequent visitor to munch the ripe mango whom I had befriended. The other children older and younger began to mock, tease and make fun of me. They at that time called me a firebolt.

My childish hasty behaviour decided to take vengeance on the rude and offensive grandpa. It was not easy for me to settle down, I wanted to blast away the dynamite and calm my mind. One day I saw him sitting carelessly in the aala, the tail portion of the loincloth was flashing outward through his short lungie, he was busy with his work. There was no one around, secretly and quietly like a snail I approached him from behind and stole the tongs that were kept there and clipped them into the exposing loincloth.

My heart was thumbing vigorously as if it would come out at once. At a safe distance hiding from behind the tree nearby, I watched the hanging tongs when he stood up. He yelped aloud and looked around but couldn’t find the culprit. Heard his screams the children gathered there howled and laughed at him. Contentment inside me began to come up, I shared my happiness with the grasshoppers, ladybirds, butterflies, and lizards on the lawn who look at me sympathetically and encouraged me with this idea of melting the clouds of revenge hanging in my mind.

My sister Mani was his all-time favourite since her birth. Clenching her in his left hand and the stick in his right hand he gets hold of her when he moves out to the neighbourhood. I often imagined myself in her place, but that never happened in my entire childhood.

Likewise, the routine he followed to observe the habit of bathing his whole life didn’t change. Lasted till the end of his days. After a prolonged illness on a Deepavali day in the early morning, he lost his life. So he proved, he was able to take bath as usual. However, this time with a difference, his kith and kin took the responsibility to bathe him and prepared him for his last journey.

Sitting beside and pressed hard to the bygone days of that beautiful era, now there was no one on the road-neither those insulting siblings nor the terror-inducing elders trumpeting wild elephants gore to the tiny hearts, all are tuning fond music to the ears. The old mango tree, older than my grandpa is still there, housing a dozen birds and squirrels. If possible, I could hide in its branches behind thick green leaves and spy on this captivating world.

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Dear Comrade

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Together, we saw
The parting sun goes to bed,
Down on the bay.
The rain stops a while,
To come out the stars,
And sparkles on the sea.

Together, we saw
The kissing two skies, 
When the sun comes up
Adding heavenly beauty, 
To the blazing desert.

Together, we laughed a little harder,
Cried a little less,
But smiled a lot
Like a four-leaf clover.

Thee, the most valuable gift
The life ever offered me.
I loved to say, 
The best days of life, 
Was with you, my dear.

If I didn't have you,
What would my mourning childhood be?
My dreamy adolescents be?
My guileful teenage be?

You always scooped me up
When I was drowning, 
In melancholy, in sadness.
Offered me thy shoulder, 
To shed out my agonies.
You're not measured by time, 
 Computed by the size of the imprint
 Thy leaves in my heart.

When you're not around,
All the fun went away
Like lines of a fairy tale 
Scripted only for us.

I know, 
I am the imperfect, 
I am the wrong, 
I am the poorest, 
Nobody except you befriended me.

Thy never gave advice,
Never been deceitful 
Nothing toxic comes from thee
But are cared for and supported,
Quieter, but are listening,
Standing by my side.

Never lied to me with a compliment
Loved me as I am, 
With all my fallibility.

Oh, friend
Catch me back, 
Hold me in your heart, 
Pick me up like, 
Just spoke yesterday.

Thy live, 
How long or how far far away,
For me, 
Enough is thy memoirs.
Thank you, buddy, 
For bringing that sun, 
In the sky of friendship, 
To shed light on my cloudy days, 
As a ray of love and hope.

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Nesamani

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Before returning home my grandma would serve my favourite chicken curry prepared in thick coconut gravy with the livestock she had bred in the house. One day I glanced at the presence of a small boy in front of grandma, wearing torn trousers. My grandma handed to him one of the rooster from the coo. He took the struggling cock behind the house. Out of curiosity, I followed him. For me the sight was a cause of concern, he killed the cock. The poor one was stooping its head downwards while the body was still shivering. Observing my gloomy face, grandma said ‘then how would we prepare chicken curry’? But that day, the breath taking smell of the curry did not tempt me. Not a bit. I refused to eat it. I did.

Thereupon whenever I saw the boy, I attempted to ignore him. Though when he saw me, his face was brimming with a captivating smile. It was like someone attached that smile on his face. I could not help myself noticing it. I detected the colour and shape of his tooth. It was black and cracked and I was curious about it. My grandma cleared my doubt, ‘Nesamani might not be cleaning his teeth,‘ she added, ‘if you were not following dental hygiene, at night the Tooth Fairy would sleep with you and eat the dirt in your mouth that she is fond of.’ Listening to her words I was petrified. I promised myself, ‘I will clean my teeth regularly.’                                  

One day Nesamani approached me and hesitantly said “Akka(sister) would you come with me I would show you something very special”. Out of curiosity, I agreed to go with him. He took me to the nearby woods. The grass was lush and green. On the way a couple of leeches fastened to the flesh of my bare legs. I became afraid and soon he scratched the little creature and threw it away, but blood began oozing out from my leg. He consoled me that to be bled by leeches was a remedy for various ailments. The skin became sore and itchy, he squeezed some leaves and poured the juice into my leg. I found the boy was a treasure house of knowledge that I was unaware about. Wielding the catapult he shot a number of wild fruits which excited and made me delighted. I forgot the tingle in my legs.     

  He climbed over a tree like a monkey and called out to me. “Akka, would you come near? As I looked at him, he said, ‘Open your mouth and then look above”. I did as instructed without hesitation. To my amazement I tasted the sweetness of honey in my mouth. When my mouth was full, I downed it. 

I saw a big honeycomb in the tree. He squeezed more and more honey into my mouth. Soon the disturbed bees began to chase and stung Nesamani. He climbed down and held my hands and we ran like a cheetah. I fell and injured my leg. The angry bees didnot spare me as well. The pain made me cry louder. I ran and ran, flushed and breathless. And finally landed into the open hands of my grandpa. She heard my wailed and, she was in search of me already. Hearing my screams even the magpies, bulbuls and other birds resting on the trees were spooked and they flew away. With cries of alarm. The whole incident made my grandma grumble, “Wretch, loafer, evil one, how he hurt my girl!”.     

Grandpa rubbed medicine to the stung marks. I felt sorry for the boy who was hurt more and grandpa consoled me, he said, “these things were a part of their daily life. The injuries would be healed by applying the extract of medicinal plants grown in the hills, which was not at all a cause of concern. Usually, the honey should be collected during twilight. That stretch of while the bees were away for training their young ones. And before taking the honey they usually smoked the hive to ward off the bees.” Grandpa explained to me in detail. He also spoke to me in length about how to collect honey from a honeycomb. After hearing all of it, a cold chill passed over my body. Nesamani, he ignored all the safety features.    

After a couple of days, camouflaging himself behind the tree, inching closer, carrying a bundle of sticks in hand which he had collected for the kitchen fire, he approched me. Nesamani was nervous about the fact that he should not be seen by my grandparents. His presence in the flawless shape made me content. I considered him to be my true friend and enquired about his whereabouts. I understood that they were residing in the “Alai” ( a den inside the rock) up in the hills. They are good at hunting. Grandma told me that they tracked rats and ate the burned meats. But I didn’t believe it. Not a bit. But then my new friend concurred with that mastery. He adored eating rat and the underground roots of wild plants as well. The very thought of eating rats made me feel like vomiting. 

Everything about and around Nesamani emerged uncanny to me. He used to flutter around like a butterfly in the hills which were wrapped in mist even at noon. Simply, wandering around and doing humble jobs to contain hunger. Within that primitive level of life, he was enjoying true pleasure in the lap of mother nature, a representative of the life of tribes in that era of which people like me were unaware. 

Far far away from pretty wholesome decades, I still heard the melody of bulbul, the attentive trees in the hills with their leaves folded and listening in. Nesamani would be smiling and strolling through the woods showing the half-broken damaged tooth with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

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On A Vacation

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Memories are timeless treasures of the heart. Like all children, midsummer vacation was the extensively celebrated holiday in our school life. It marked the midpoint of the growing season, halfway between planting and harvesting. For children like us, it was a celebration day, with no schooling, no studies, and relief from being admonished and smacked by parents and teachers. It was harvesting time also. To take part in the process of paddy harvesting along with a handful of workers was honestly a mind-blowing experience. To beat the scorching summer, nature took its unique way by offering fruits in abundance. A way to celebrate true happiness in the lap of Mother nature.

I was eagerly waiting for those special days to come. Somehow I got the opportunity to visit and dwell in my maternal ancestral home, where my lovely grandparents reside. The big quadrangular building was positioned in a large compound surrounded by trees and plants. It looked like a small forest housing different types of birds and creatures.

The four-winged house had independent room for each venture. A corner delivery compartment also accommodated menstruating girls and women, and a closed room for dead people where pujas were performed periodically. Another big cabin where the cistern(large chest to keep rice corn) was kept. Its corner portion was exclusively used for protecting seasonal fruits wrapped in vatta leaves for ripening.

The room encompassed the sweet smell of ripe jack fruit, mango, pineapple, guava, and the like. Sometimes we used to take a midday nap over the cistern. A wooden stair led to the deck where big brass vessels, utensils, and other old items stood. Blindfolded by the elders at times we play hide and seek over there.

After lunch, the servant’s room was changed into a conference cum working area assembled by the neighbourhood ladies to beating rice corn, grounding rice, and splitting grams using the touchstone, wooden mortar and pestle, and grinding stones. While doing so they exchanged pleasantries, personal woes, and a little bit of gossiping to ease the endeavour. Such a subtle and generous person like my grandma handles the situation, with love and compassion helping them to get their life under control and solve their problems. Being there and eavesdropping was one of my favourite time passes. Before twilight, we would take a bath and wash our clothes in the nearby Temple pond. There I glanced at some peeping tom’s watchful eyes at the bathing ghat.

Most fruits and cashew nuts transported to the evening market for sale. It was indeed a joyous journey to accompany my grandpa to the trade point. The crowd, the hue, and cry, the exchange of levity with the fellow vendors, the happiness of trading, etc were worth contemplating. I learned a little bit about the techniques of marketing there.

Not far away there lived my Kochamma(my mother’s younger sister) and family. The cosmic homestead was covered with the canopy of fruit-bearing trees. We used to glide over the slanting branches of mango trees and sliced the mango with the hidden knife and, ate it comfortably sitting there. Occasionally, we plucked cashew nuts and roasted them by bringing about fire using the fallen leaves, relishing the cracked hot nuts under the silhouette of the big tree.

I loved my Kochamma dearly. Her poor academic background didn’t stand a chance in front of her mastery in reading cinema and affiliated subjects. A treasure house of cinema stories, which she narrated like real-life sagas, I was always eager to hear her narration. She had a decent collection of cinema notice and cinema song books I adored going over and over. Rarely did she take me to the nearest cinema theatre to watch the black and white movies prominent in that period.

The cuisines she prepared were appetising to my taste buds, especially the whole salted raw mango pickle adding kanthari chilly which was made and preserved in the previous season and kept in the big clay jar. Its smell and flavour were unique, the salt n sour and chilli taste refused to depart from my mouth to date. (to be continued)

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Who Are You

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A glimpse in the movie 
Charmed me up 
Grown-ups hugging parents, 
Oh, lounging on their laps, 
Kissing in the cheeks. 
That's really wonderful, 
That's truly cheerful.

Love that's baffled, 
Hidden inside the heart, 
That was my mother, 
That had been my mother. 

Oh, how could I ever remember 
The hug of my mother, 
Oh, should I ever hug her? 
I couldn't remember ever. 

She was always busy, 
In the kitchen, courtyard, 
Chasing the pet animals, 
Running after the livestock. 

Wheels on her legs, 
A stick in her hand, 
The days wouldn't end, 
Without getting charged. 

Sometimes, an epitome of the goddess Kaali 
Occasionally the grumpy brat, 
But all the time a purveyor of 
Mouth watering delicacies. 

A burning fire inside 
She was always streaming 
To cope with the tramp of life 
Oh, at all times gushing. 

Abruptly, the race stops 
And she kept imploring, 
To the passersby, 
To the near and dear.
 
Who are you?? 
Oh tell me, dear, 
Who're you?? 

The darkness overpass 
Anamnesis into the eyes
She didn't see me 
Not recognised me at the fore. 

The canopy slowly replaced 
The ceaseless broiling desert 
Nagging fear creeped 
Oh, a bundle of worries heaped 
Now, the ego bawling, 
To cuddle her, whimpering her. 

Sitting behind the heavenly curtain 
She kept on asking 
Who're you??? 
I'm also incisive 
To find an answer...
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A Weekend Getaway

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Tucked away just four and a half-hour drive from my home town, Aluva, and just about 150kms from Cochin International Airport lies the most enchanting protected jungle. On arrival, one feels like being transported to another planet. Calm, green, tranquil, and mesmerising she is.

Thekkady, home to the wild animals, especially tigers, is an ideal weekend getaway that helps one cut off from the day-to-day cacophony and unwind in nature’s lap, soothed by jungle symphony. Located in Idukki, the mountain region is truly a sight to behold. Flowing through the verdant greenery of Chola forest(evergreen forest) that covers several large and small waterfalls, a double delight for nature lovers. The month of June is the start of the monsoon. The rain, bring in the raw power of nature. It leaves one spellbound.

We reached around 2 pm to inhale fresh air and idle by the river Periyar, gazing at the hills wrapped in greenery. Camping at Aranya Nivas was the best we did over the weekend. We found their rates affordable which included a decent vegetarian breakfast. The service was satisfactory, and the establishment has a swimming pool, tennis court, playground, other facilities, and amenities as well. There exist other stay options around the area if one wishes to look for it.

Our evening sightseeing was not up to our expectations. Said hi to those macaques here and there staring at us. We expected some jumbo on the way, satisfied with Deer, wild bears, and spotted wild squirrels. We comprehended that wild creatures stood in the woods during the monsoon as there were plenty of water bodies. So spotting them would be mere luck.

After the buffet dinner, we decided to enjoy the woods in the darkness with a fresh night walk. The rain didn’t allow it, so we watched from the balcony. By hearing the rain, observing it, the deep-rooted connection with the rain to the mind, it’s not just happy, romantic, deluge and loss. The way the wind moves, the way the raindrops hits the forest, everything felt different in the woods.

Boating started at 7 am, arranged by our lodging. While wading through the river, hearing the symphony of the wilderness, and spotting animals were enthusiastic. We spotted creatures like mongooses, wild boars, pigs, and wild livestock. Though not up to our expectations.

Moreover, rain accompanied our return journey. Rain always comes with mixed sentiments. For me, it is an intense feeling. It influences my imagination. I can go on and on about rain. In short the weekend stay was undoubtedly rejuvenating.

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Hop and Plop

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It is raining again. The down pour for all those have been waiting for it. People of all age groups greet monsoon with a happiness as it is a sign of new beginnings.

Growing up, it has always been a treat for us. And ofcourse, the frogs. The sound they make when it begins to drizzle is pretty entertaining. It’s also their mating season. The frog eggs floated in white foams on top of the water. On the North and south of our old house were water bodies. The northern pond was permanent. While our southern pond was formed during the flood. The southern pond dried up gradually as the monsoon season ended.

Meanwhile, a canal formed between the two ponds, and the area became a hinterland. There was an enormous tree near the north pond, with its branches sloping toward the surf. During the downpour, the water rose and reached the trunks. We climbed on the branches, and, jumped into the ice-cold water, swam, and played around. That was a fun party. We used to catch fish with rustic fishing hooks using tiny earthworms dug out as fish bait. Small fishes like “paral, pranjil, ootha” were lured into our snare. Trawling was at that point one of the most incredible pastimes.

The heavy downpour overnight used to bring water to our doorsteps. The whole yard was underwater. But the glut never entered the porch of our little home. Amma always said, “The Rain God never deceives us”. Large blocks were arranged to make a temporary pathway to tread over the sludge. On a day like this, the rain stopped briefly and gave way to the sun. Sunlight mirrored crystalline water, and my attention was drawn to the movement of something very peculiar.

At first, I got petrified of the possible presence of large snakes in the vicinity. It gave way to excitement as I spotted two large “varal” fish (Snakehead Murrel) and numerous baby fishes. They were on their journey from the North pond to the South. The next day, at the same time I spotted the same varal fish and the other school of fish again. Unable to contain my excitement, I called out for my younger sister, Mani. Her joy found no end as she studied them with utmost curiosity. We couldn’t let go of the opportunity to catch the fish. By the end of the monsoon, the creek connecting the ponds would quickly disappear as the water retreats, and the southern pond would become shallow. If the fish voyage ends in the south pond, we might have a chance of catching the fish. It’s going to be dumb luck.

Secrecy of the plan was necessary as we were not prepared to share the catch with the neighbouring kids. As rain withdrew, the canal dried up. Mom has been relieved now that the clothes will dry, the pets will not have to be cooped up, the livestock can go graze, and largely that she doesn’t have to worry about children catching vile tropical diseases as they squirmed in puddles. The water level of the south pond ebbed. The ripples in the muddy water hinted at the fishes trapped in the pond that by now reduced to more of a funky smelling puddle.

We decided to carry out our mission. After lunch, Mom invariably visits the neighbourhood for gossip while the children around get busy playing indoors or taking naps. We found the right time for our adventure. A bath towel was to serve as a fishing net. We ventured knee-deep into the dark, murky water. After several attempts, the fish became entangled in our fabric net. All grown by now, the fish tried to get around the net. We closed the cloth on all sides and wrapped it into a bundle.

Absorbed in our adventure, we barely noticed how we transformed at the end of the ordeal. The real danger awaited us at the bank. Our mother took the form of a bloody villain, screaming while holding a cane, ready to pounce as soon as we left the pond. Scared out of our wits, we bundled the towel with the fish and muck and threw it at her. Jumping out of the water, we took to heels before she could recover from the shock.

We reached a safe distance from her and turned around to see something I will never forget. There my mother was standing dumbfounded. The black miry slimy fish vaulted and convulsed about her legs, attempting to wriggle free from the wrap, which was now mostly open. Her hand dangled in the air holding a stick as she stood like a statue soaked in mud and slurry, red pan-chew saliva dripping from her open mouth. Quite a spectacle that I could never, ever and forever forget.

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Mindfulness

/ ksyamala1954 / Leave a comment 
Solitude whispers, 
Where's the cloud that nestles my dreams? 
Scared of people distancing 
Unable to find a support system, 
All are romancing their lives, 
Sometimes a demon, rarely a friend. 

Not fairly skinned, not an apple of the eye, 
To the passers-by 
Unworthy, fatty, shamed and cult, 
A sea of dreamers lost to the grind. 
Beware of the night, 
Night divides the sky, 
Currents are against making a difference. 

Checking out grooms always, 
Coffee with accompaniments, 
Strangers met and parted ways. 
Left a hurting heart, feel remorseful, 
Stay away from conventions? 

Preferring to dwell in solitude?
Cross the path, break all boundaries, 
Smiling through the tears, 
Not one's is willing to love the unlovely. 
Negative thoughts multiply rapidly
Is it necessary to find one? 

Who'll treat you like a slave? 
Easy to count seeds in an apple 
Absurd to count apples in a seed. 
To find a hurt and heal it 
To find the need and fill it. 

From today's lens or yesteryear's 
Bias is there, hard to speak it out, 
Judged with colour and looks, 
Fair is always lovely. 

Just want the company of a wonderful relationship? 
No fat shaming, skin colour? 
There are a lot of late bloomers 
Forget the past arena of bad news 
Choose to react positively, 
Turn the scars to stars. 

Add joy to the solitude 
Being our own best friend 
By looking after ourselves, 
And receive the abundance of joy....
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