Holiness Unleashed

 Danichan was mixing soap with water and making bubble tornadoes during his bath time when he asked me a question.

“ How is holy water made, Amma?”

 This question brought back a heart warming  memory from over three decades ago.

We had a little bottle of  holy water in our living room showcase. Vallyaunty must have brought it during her annual home visits. During exam time, we would dab it on our forehead as if it would  miraculously give us to the powers to perform well. 

Curious to know how this special water was made I posed the same question that Dani had to Deechechi. 

Deechechi was quick to reply.“ It’s no big deal. There is church in Rome with a huge tower. People crowd outside the church with baskets full of stuff they want to be blessed. This would include liters of ordinary water in bottles. The Pope would then come out for a minute and make the sign of cross and say Bless all the stuff below and voila you have holy water".

This was before the era where you could  google to check the veracity of any answers. Also, I believed everything that Deechechi said and I had no doubts.  I passed on to  Danichan the same procedure to make  holy water that Deechechi shared with me years ago.

Daniel paused for a second and said “ We’ll, I have a better way of making it. You add some Dove shampoo and conditioner to a mug of water to make it cleaner and cleanliness is next to godliness which makes it holy.. and even better if you freeze it overnight you get holy ice! Can  we please make holy ice Amma?

As this included transporting a mug of holy water downstairs to the living room I said no.

PS: Deechechi was indeed right! Wiki page has  three DIY ways to make holy water and the process is essentially the same as what Deechechi told me years ago ( although the prayer is longer and you need to add salt to the water!)

A Piggyback Ride to Remember

  Back in the days, lunchtime on Sundays after Catechism classes would be the time for Smrithilayam on Dooradarshan; half an hour of nostalgic Malayalam music. Although this show didn’t particularly excite me; given that we didn’t have the unlimited choices with cable connection, I would still half heartedly watch it. Deechechi and I would sometimes pick  a song for roleplay that we could enact in our own little ways. As always, Deechechi would assign the roles, and usually she was the super hero and I was either the villain or the side kick. One song that we  particularly loved was  Thappukuttampuram Thavidukuttamparam which we both thought would be a perfect fit for performing. In this song a little girl is the central character as she is is showered with love while being given a piggy back ride by a bunch of family members. I  felt very excited and quite important; for finally getting the role of the main character and also for having to go on a piggy back ride. After many attempts with me climbing on the sofa and then jumping on to Deechechi’s back,  she finally said that I was not doing it right and decided to abort the play. I was so disappointed.  As you remember, I  was a mini-drama queen  back then and  Amma used to call me 'complaint box'. So,  I ran to  Amma and you to pour my heart out. You were both outside in the driveway talking to John uncle and a few of your other friends.   With tears running down my cheeks, I told you both what happened. I still believe that a Holy Angel must have descended on you that day; you surprisingly offered me a piggy back ride. I happily climbed on your shoulders and wrapped my legs around your waist and arms around your neck. I stayed there for almost half an hour as  you continued your light evening walk with with Amma. I felt just as proud and happy as the little girl in the song.

As a little girl many times I have yearned for more physical and verbal affirmations of love from you. I remember telling Amma once to ask you to call me mole once in a while instead of edi Jyotee.  But as I have grown older and may be a bit wiser, I have realized that love can be expressed in many different ways. From  meticulously ironing out all my uniforms and salwars through school and college, carefully filling out all the entrance application forms, driving / taking me to all important exams from SSLC, medical entrance exams and USMLEs, cooking countless delicious dishes, tirelessly washing all my pumping bottles during residency and most importantly taking care of Danichan and Emmanu like your own- you have  expressed your love and affection in a million other ways.

PS. I still maintain that you were a bit too strict and I prefer  the mellow version  I see you switch to when you are with your colleagues.

Down a Lollipop Memory Lane

I  eagerly looked at the red, shiny disc mounted on the little, white stick. I spinned it around for a few seconds and then carefully  removed the transparent plastic wrapper on the bright, red crystal.  As I  relished the sweet treat, I told myself " This is the best thing I have tasted in my life.. much better than the caramel candies I have been handing out all day!". It was my third birthday and we were at Varkala naturopathic center. You had brought a large bag of  caramel sweets; each wrapped in different colors-red, blue and green; to distribute to the people staying there. I felt quite important and loved all the attention  as people beamed at me and wished me Happy Birthday. I walked into the chief doctor's office and delightedly gave him a handful of my birthday candies. In return, he gave me a lollipop. I stepped out of the room in ecstasy; wishing this sweet  ball of yumminess would last forever.  After I was done distributing all the candies, you decided to have a sauna bath to relax your nerves. I sat on a  side bench watching you in the sauna machine while enjoying my lollipop. My excitement turned to fear as I thought you were being burnt alive in a large barrel with just head popping outside. I was so relived you came out alive that day. 

"You are Marykutty's photocopy!!" This is a dialogue I often heard growing up. No wonder my first ever memory of myself is closely linked with you!

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 I eyed with suspicion the tiny, brown beans next to  the heap of soft, cooked rice and dollop of white, creamy  curd. I was nine years old and it was summer vacation. We were visiting our homestead in Kozhuvanal  to see Ammachi in a long time. After a winding bus ride we finally reached home late evening; hungry and tired. I ran down the brown, mudded road that leads to the house; eager to see if the rope swing we had last year was still hanging from the tamarind tree in the front yard. It was quite dark ; the sun had already set and it was also time of the scheduled daily  power cut. Ammachi greeted us on the cemented veranda holding a faded yellow, brass kerosene lamp. A few minutes later,  you went to the kitchen and brought a round, steel plate with dinner and we sat together on the wooden table next to the kitchen. Ammachi placed the kerosene lamp on the table and under its dim, yellow light I glanced at our dinner apprehensively.  I was an immature, food racist at that time who always preferred white rice, whit puttu and was always skeptical about anything  with a shade of brown; especially if new. My hunger pangs told me that beggars can't be choosers. I  mixed the warm rice with soft beans and placed it in my mouth. l fell in love instantly with the subtle, nutty flavor of brown beans and  sourness of the curd-all tied together with the soft, sticky rice. I gulped up the whole plate and went to bed with a happy tummy.

A week later we went to Kottayam Railway station to catch an overnight train to Calicut. You had packed rice, vanpayar thoran, curd and sardine fries for dinner to have on the train  after boarding.  As the train chugged away, you made tiny balls of rice, curd, beans and little pieces of sardine. You gently placed the little balls in my mouth one at a time.. it tasted like heaven. There was a family sitting opposite to us; a teenage daughter who was yelling at her mom. I felt bad for that mom and  while enjoying  your delicious rice balls I promised myself  I would never ever  do that to you.

Food always tasted a million times better when you served it with your hands. Over the years, you would often make vanpayar  in different styles knowing how much I loved it. You also made sure there was a batch of  mango pickle at home, knowing that this was another one of my favorites. I remember begging for the  yummy balls of puttu and pazham even as a teenager when you would  make it for Mathews. 

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Exam season meant it was time for your special, steaming cup of Bru coffee. . Even if you were busy with your tuition classes,  you would make sure I  had a cup of  Bru  before I left; as if the coffee would magically give me the answers to all questions; even the ones I didn't know. While sipping the coffee, I would feel guilty about not being good enough and wishing I prepared better for the tests.

As an adult, I always start my day peacefully sipping a  cup of black coffee made with Bru. Even if it is made without sugar, I enjoy it as it is sweetened with all the warm memories it brings back.

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During my internship,  I got to stay  with you and Pappa as a single child. Since both of you had more time, I would come back home to find all my favorites ..from Aviyal to Erissery to chemeen curry; the list goes on . This made me even think that being an only child as Deechechi always wanted was actually not a  bad idea.

 Even as a young adult when I should be taking care of myself and cooking for you , you never stopped treating me with more delicious food. During my residency and fellowship, I would come back home to the the delicious smell of all my favorites. On every trip to visit me you would bring   bottles of  spicy pickles, crunchy jackfruit fries, sun-dried bananas and spicy, aromatic coconut powder. You  have even fearlessly imported delicious pomfret fries wrapped  in banana leaves so that I could enjoy this childhood favorite of mine.

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Love can be expressed in many ways. You have shown me your love; not just by cooking my favorite food but a million other ways: sharing your passion for chemistry,  patiently draping my saree through adult hood, leading by example of being a lifelong learner by working hard on your doctorate, by zealously continuing your passion to teach after your  retirement., taking care of my little ones as if they were your own and, sharing your love for chemistry with Danichan  by teaching him the periodic table.  I am glad to have inherited Papa's  unique, slow weight gain metabolism; but I am proud and happy to be your photo copy with big round eyes, extra-long nose and an everlasting love for chemistry.

Tempered by fire; will not wilt under the sun

 Mathews was watching a live India-Pakistan match on TV when the power went off. It was just him and his older sister at home and it was already past dinner time. The hall was dark and he was never fond of being in the dark alone. He walked over to the wooden cupboard in the hallway  that was a storage space for all daily paraphernalia from staplers to sketch pens. He scavenged the big box with all the house essentials from band aids to 50 paisa coins and found a thin white wax candle along with the capless Reynold and cello pens. He then made his way to the kitchen and found a match box with just one  match stick left. He realized there was no room for error here. With extreme focus and meticulous hand eye coordination he  carefully lit the match stick, cupped his left hand to protect the flame  and  flawlessly transferred the yellow flame to the black candle wick. He was quite proud of himself; he had managed to stay calm in the face of adversity and accomplished his goal. Now he needed to find a candle stand. Holding the candle in one hand; he went back to the wooden cupboard and was a bit disappointed that there was no candle stand in there. He stared ahead into the emptiness looking for answers  and saw the big black box with the blank screen that he has been entertaining him for last several hours before power went off. This was where his neurons failed him. He was exhausted lighting the candle and the molten  wax had already begun to drip down and mercilessly coat his  fingers. He congratulated himself for finding the perfect impromptu candle stand. He thrust the candle on top of the television and slouched back on the couch to relax. He felt a bit bored after a while and thought he should go upstairs to check on his sister. He went to her room upstairs and settled himself on the wooden rocking chair. As he was updating her on the latest developments in 20-20 world cup series, the power came back. He was about to head back downstairs when he saw the latest edition of Balarama on her study table. His sister had skillfully smuggled it upstairs  early morning so she could  peacefully could read it before her pesky siblings laid hands on it. Mathews returned to his rocking chair again  to devour the Balarama following the systematic order that he had developed through years-  comics first followed by short stories without pictures and finally world trivia meant to improve general knowledge. He skimmed through the pages to find his favorite comic piece; Sutran and Sheru. He then went on to read the rest of the comics Mayavi and Kapish when his sister asked him if he wanted to have Maggi Noodles aka did he want to prepare food for both of them? Both of them finally decided to head  downstairs to the kitchen  to cook noodles together.  They realized something wasn't right when the burnt smell stimulated their olfactory receptors. Their vision was blurred as the stairway was blanketed in clouds of white smoke. The living room looked haunted as the white ceiling  was covered in black splotches of soot. The rectangular black television was now just a big black charred molten lump  bellowing fire. As the two of them were synthesizing all that was happening around them, Amma and Papa returned from their day trip to find the house they had worked hard to build in over two decades almost set to fire. Papa followed his usual carrot and stick approach in teaching Mathews the dangers from using a television as a candle stand. But is arson committed from stupidity really a crime?

Thinking of tiny hands

 I remember you as a tiny bean inside Amma’s belly. In the evening we used to take short strolls in the terrace of our Chevayur home, which was a single storey  house at that time. Deechechi came up with a fun game to guess the baby’s gender. We will knock on the Amma’s pregnant tummy and ask “ Boy or Girl?”  and if you (who was of course super- intelligent to understand the question) kicked once then you were a boy. Deechechi will go first and I will follow suit.

You have well narrated the story of your birth in your own words before; how Amma’s water broke and you swam out like a champion into the new world. I remember overhearing that Amma was taken to Baby Memorial Hospital that day. Anija aunty called that day to ask which Baby Memorial it was (was it the one next to the beach or the other one?). Even though I didn’t know the answer to the question, I confidently said it was the one next to the beach as it sounded more fun. I remember visiting the hospital to see you for the first time. I was more excited to see the doorknobs in the ward; looked very different from the door handles we had home. Ironically, I don’t have a lot of memories of seeing you or holding you that day; but I am sure I cuddled you with loads of hugs and kisses as I was always a dedicated older sister.

Thus, we became a family of five. Pappa’s bullet bike was our family’s official locomotive. It appalls me now picturing all of us sitting tight on that two-seater. I will be sitting in front of Pappa holding tight to the heavy steel lid that closes the fuel tank; Deechechi will be right behind Papa, arms wrapped around his waist and Amma will be behind Deechechi carrying you in her lap and simultaneously balancing her posture holding to the rear handle of the bike. I remember our ride on the bullet to  ‘Photoshop’   for our first family picture as five. You might wonder why I look cross-eyed in the picture. I was trying to look sideways to make sure you were looking at the camera; while looking straight at the same time.

 

Although I was always eager to hold you and carry you around, I was a bit disappointed that Appa and Papa seemed to trust Deechechi more than me (understandably I was only 5 years at that time). Deechechi would carry you around pretending to be a queen (wearing Amma’s vesti half saree; hair tied as a bun to one side). My role in this pretend play was as ‘Poothana’ the ghost who steals the baby from her. Since I was just a ghost, I didn’t need any fancy costumes. I still agreed to participate as stealing the baby meant I could hold you for some time. Deechechi would gracefully walk around singing a lullaby like in movies and finally put you to sleep when I can finally do my part of stealing the baby. However, as Deechechi is the script writer; the play would end right after I steal the baby. Of course, we never played the game after that day since I declined to be Poothana without any incentive.

I wanted you to have things that I didn’t have as a child. One of the items included a pet name. After much contemplation I came up with ‘Ikkilikuttan’ aka  ‘Tickle baby’-( better than the name you had chosen for the mall you were going to  build when you grow up-‘Hernia’). I called you by this name for a couple of days; however, Deechechi once overheard the name and condemned my poor choice. I was discouraged and told myself that you should stay as Mathews.

Having a baby brother means you could be my guinea pig to answer all the science questions that pops up in my inquisitive brain- What happens to a person’s eyes when sleeping? ( Are the eye balls up, down, or do they recede to secret cave inside your brain?). Like every other older sibling, I had to tell you the sad fact that we got you wrapped up in a blanket in the little creek behind our house and you don’t truly belong to our family.  Amma/Papa decided to keep you  only because we had no boys. My heart would swell up with sadistic satisfaction as your eyes welled with tears.

When you started kindergarten, I would rush to the nursery side of Presentation during every break to make sure you were doing ok. You would often burst out in tears and was rightfully nick named as “Kannuneerpainkili”. Being a responsible big sister meant that I had to judiciously scavenge your bag every day for any evidence of low test scores . You became a pro in discovering new hiding places ( I couldn’t use the Hindi answer paper  that I found a year later in our enormous Malayalam dictionary to black mail you).

I would often extensively talk to you about all I have don’t for you as a baby; from cuddling and feeding to changing your diaper and how it was time for you to pay me back for my hard work. You would sincerely bring part of the birthday treats that you get at school as my reward. I was so grateful to have a brother who disliked chocolates and ice creams. I still remember you excitedly running to my 9^th grade classroom with foreign chocolates that Rugbaz had shared with you (they were delicious).

 

I would often hold your little hand close to mine and ask myself “Will these tiny fingers ever grow? It will take ages!”.  You were secretly listening to me and in the last three decades you grew not just long fingers; but also over six feet tall. From pillow/blanket fights to sudoku races (you always won) I have countless warm memories to cherish with you. I feel blessed to have you in my life.

 

PS: This was written as a gratitude exercise on my birthday. What better way to feel grateful than reminisce my childhood memories with you!

Wishing you and Nitha a wonderful and blessed life ahead!                                                                                                                                                                       

 

 

 

 

Spectacles for Good Girls ( G lasses)

 

 

Just like Buddha had his enlightenment, I had a  revelation when I was around 11 years old on how to look smart. I realized all I needed to get that nerdish look and enhance my appearance to the next level was a pair of glasses. I would enviously watch my friends with glasses as they gracefully played with its frame and finely readjusted it during our casual conversations. However, there was one major dilemma- I had absolutely no problems with my vision. Still determined to win my prize, I consulted a few of my bespectacled friends and learned that chronic headaches can be an indication for prescribing glasses. This valuable piece of information awakened the amateur actor in me. I would religiously feign headaches every evening at home. Not only was I close to scoring my goal, Amma also let me go to bed an hour earlier than my usual bedtime. Killing two birds with one stone; I was so proud of myself!

After a couple of weeks of daily headaches, my worried parents scheduled an urgent appointment with an Ophthalmologist. I was excited and nervous realizing I was inching towards my treasure.  Now, I don’t exactly remember how our conversation went; but I did outline a genuine history of a nagging headache that disrupted my life. Also, I demonstrated considerable difficulty in reading some alphabet rows in his vision chart (of course, I was a polished actor by this time). However, to my utter disappointment, his final assessment after the evaluation was that my vision was perfectly fine and all I needed to do was eat vegetables rich in Vitamin A daily to maintain my eyesight. I was in shock; could he deliver such a terrible advice to a little girl who had strong anti-vegetable traits since infancy!

My parents were obviously happy to learn that I had no major health issues. Amma religiously followed the doctor’s advice since then and served me sliced raw carrots every day. Now I hated vegetables in general; but I detested carrot in particular as it always made me feel nauseous. So I would pretend to eat the carrot; but as soon as Amma was out of my sight, I would quickly hide it in the side pocket of a luggage bag kept under my bed for storing old clothes (perfect hiding place in my mind!). I stopped my headache drama immediately so Amma would forget her daily vegetable routine. My yearning to join the bespectacled league waned off soon as well.

Weeks later, one day when I was back home from school, I walked into this strange sight of my parents deep cleaning a familiar luggage bag outside our house (Amma was holding the bag wide open while Papa was ejecting a strong water jet into it with a hose). I innocently enquired what the matter was. Amma told me that they noted a terrible smell in my room and traced its source to the luggage bag. They hypothesized that a house gecko possibly got trapped inside the bag and its rotten remains resulted in the deadly stench. Halleluzah for the narrow escape, I said to myself.

PS 1: The title of the story is a cross word puzzle that always reminds me of this incident!

PS 2: Now that I am older (and wiser) my vision has certainly regressed, and I need to wear glasses every day and hate it! (Simple ironies of life.)

 

Dearborn Days

Apartment moving- Cooking food- organizing stuff- beginning of a new life- waves of change taking me in an unknown direction- scared/nervous/excited and still lazy and disoriented- sums up my life.