Happy day amma: Lalitha part 1:

We spoke in a secret language when I was very young. Nobody else could understand it. I was convinced that I could talk in it because my mother understood what I said and responded in the same language. We used to call it ‘atu putula bhasha’. We could converse in this nonsense gibberish for hours and it ended with great giggly laughter, kisses and hugs. It went something like this “ kichona kamaki kim? Or some such nonsense!!

She was a magical and powerful person for me. She could summon Hanumantha to be with me invisibly so that he can guard me from dangers (which came in the form of going to the loo outside in the night etc.) If anybody was sick, she could summon Indrakshi (goddess of health) to make them better, we were told not to joke about or say bad things because ‘Thathasthu devathas’ would be roaming around saying ‘thathasthu’ and the bad thing will come true. I was petrified of saying bad stuff. Whenever she spoke, the lizard would approve and she said ‘krishna krishna’ and looked emphatically at the audience. Many of her stories involved ‘Shiva and Parvathi’ going around the sky doing ‘vihara’ and they would chance upon good or bad things people were doing. So I felt like the sky is studded with all these Gods and goddesses roaming invisibly and my mother knows them all !!!

She is still magical and powerful for me. When I boarded the longest international flight, my flight fright came down by recalling her powerful statement “as long as I live, I won’t let anything happen to you”. My anxiety comes down always with that recollection and I know she won’t let anything happen to me.

My mother Lalitha – Part 0 (to be continued through out the blog journey…)

I was 14 years old small town girl. I grew to my current height (5.4 ft) as soon as I reached menarche. I was the tallest in the class and the last bencher because other puny kids complained that they can not see the board if I sit in the front. I was gawky and hunched my shoulders to underplay my height and other body parts which belonged on an adult.

One day, I ‘found’ a 2 page letter professing love tucked in my bag. That day was devastating as I thought of the humiliation I will face if any body else came to know. On the long walk from School, I thought of tearing the offensive material into shreds and getting rid of the evidence. But, I was also at an age, where this letter was devilishly exciting. Description of ‘me’ in boyish terms like ‘moon beam’ and his devotion to worship my shadow etc. were in a way perversely precious as well. I did not even know who wrote it and thought of the boys and started to do my guess work and it became even more exciting to think of a particular boy.

But, I am still a child at home right? I should be rightfully outraged and embarrassed and feel angry right? To a decent degree I was all that. I did not know how to break this at home and to whom to break this to. My immediate elder brother though shared everything from fantasies to knowledge bits always acted more elderly by taking sides with the other elder brother in crucial times. That was the boy thing to do may be. My sister was more like a friendly boss whose friends lived in and possessed fantastic things and being in her good favour was always an advantage. (I ran around to their houses fetching and dropping stuff for letting me dial three rounds in a phone, for letting me pick my own choice of rose etc.!!!). My father! NO WAY.

So I took mom to the room, locked the door and gave her the letter and as a testimony of my innocence started crying. At first she was silent, then she hugged me and then she told me that as long as I did not encourage people it was ok. These things are bound to happen when a girl starts growing up. In future, I should be careful not to leave my bag unattended and for now pretend like this letter was never seen by me. Never take any letters from anybody etc. As my relief flooded across my face and I started crying with happiness (more of a relieved tension I think) she told me to write this in my diary. It will be fun to read ten years from now!!!!

She became the coolest mom in the world for me from that moment on. And she continues to be.

Strength of a woman

I was feeling all Sylvia plathish and acting wistful like Meena Kumari a bit and spent the afternoon listening to what my mother wrote about her friends and her take on 'strength of a woman'.

Best friend number 1:
She was 8 months younger to my mother and was married to a good catch at that time - A professional working in Bombay, he was handsome and city slick. When the boy came to see her friend (let us call her S) she was made to wear a pink 'city' saree which his sister got with her and her hair style was changed. She was 'approved' and got married. For some years there were stories of S in Bombay, S in Gauhati, S in Patna and the exciting life she was in. She had 3 children by then. At that point of time, my mother was intimated that S was hospitalised due to nervous breakdown and has become totally numb - no emotions, no movement and no interest in any thing. Later on when she visited her, she was better and told my mother that there was nothing to worry. She is moving back to her hometown with kids as the husband is changing cities frequently. This is a plan for children's education. But, her eyes were vacant and hollow. My mother came to know through her father that, S's husband was promiscuous and had married another woman and when confronted, had told S that 'she is not womanly' enough.
I am a childhood friend to her kids and she was a gorgeous woman in a classical sense (big eyes, long straight nose and the works)She never told anybody what happened with her marriage, she worked really hard to bring her kids up, lived most modestly through out her life and died with the secret inside at a young age.

Best friend number 2:
She was my mothers friend from childhood and they loved climbing trees and temple towers together. She was married off at an appropriate age to a respectable family with stable economic status. Years went by without much change and she hit her 40s. My mother heard from some body that her husband had remarried. She was horrified and did not know how to ask her friend. But her friend when they met shared her story thus; "My husband is at fault in this situation, the other woman is young, unmarried and a beautiful woman.Because of my husband, she was thrown out of her house and she lost respect in the village, where will that poor girl go for the fault that both were responsible for? so I told my husband to marry her and bring her home." As a twist in the story, that other woman gave birth to a daughter and died. Mom's friend brought her up as her own and now both of them live together.

Strength to abide by patriarchy and strength to cloak the struggles of the self under patriarchy ..... never the less strength of women then, now and forever...

This is how it started decades ago ..

Wonderland: (1994)

My wonderland was Grandma’s Kitchen,

So many shiny utensils,

Various stoves,

The scent of strong coffee,

Delicious things cooking continuously,

It was so alive!!

She was like a witch,

Desperate on preparing her

Priced Concoction…

Mother’s kitchen is more

Organised and tidy,

Cooks fried rice and channa batura,

Takes time and watches,

Santa Barbara in between

Cooker whistles

Seems happy but sometimes appears

Like an exhausted Goddess,

I am sure my own wonderland

Would be different

With efficient gas burners,

Oven, grinder, food processor,

Time saving recipes and

A man to share the burden,

But, on hearing it,

Why is the witch laughing and

The goddess amused??