Being practical v/s. Being environmentally minded.

When people talk about recycling and using less resources...

I think back about my childhood.

Where we diverted the water from the bathroom and the wash basins to the garden.

Where clothes were handed around the extended family.

Were books were - story books, text books - handed across families and friendships.

Where old magazines, old milk covers and newspapers were regularly brought by the 'akrikkadakkaran' ( meaning junk buyer in English)

Where pickle and jam jars were used to store spices, where extra jars were given away to neighbors in need.

Were most of the cooking was done on stoves using paper and deadwood as fuel. Where the dried coconut rinds were used to heat water, cook rice and make curry. The ash was used to wash utensils and shine brass and as a fertilizer.

Were plates were either made of clay or steel. Broken clay-pot pieces were used as boundary for the garden, dented steel utensils were exchanged with the shopkeeper when we brought new ones.

Where plastic covers were reused.

Where jute thread used to tie the grocery wrappings were reused.

Where when traveling, a plantain leaf was cut, lightly boiled over a fire and used as a taste retaining food wrap which can be thrown away anywhere.

Were cats would eat the leftover pieces of fish and meat.

Where the kitchen waste went to the compost heap.

Where my dogs provided the nitrogen and ammonia elements needed for the garden - we never used any chemicals in the kitchen garden.

Where broken pieces of glass were collected and used by people as wall decoration.

And broken bangles and random beads were used for craft sessions.

Yes, my parents generation did recycle and were environmentally minded.

But they called it being economical and practical.

May be, just may be, in the so called third world countries instead of starlets urging people to go green and high priced organic produce on the stores,

Someone ought to go to the people and teach them how to be practical.

Just a thought.

Stupid Cupid? Well, not really.

Staying at your parents home and working from there have distinct advantages.

You get home food.

Due to the time difference, you can wake up late and stay up late, which I love to do.

Its on the tropics - hello, sunshine and warm weather, as opposed to grey skies and chilly winds in sub polar regions.

You get to play fairy godmother.

Cousins have this habit of sneakly growing up all too quickly when you are not looking. Such is the case with one of mine. Lets call him Matt.

Matt came home one day, and to be frank, I did not recognize him for a full five minutes. This is the same cousin who has mercilessly beaten me up and was beaten up by me - with some additional kicks and scratches included - in turn. So naturally, we were pretty close as kids, in the convoluted way only kids could be.

Of course, now being six years elder and grown up means he treats me with respect. Which is all for good, as Matt has grown up to resemble a baby elephant. Hefty, that boy is.

On my last visit home, I have realized that Matt had a girl friend. Of course I was happy, of course I promised not to tell my parents or his - love affairs while studying is not something our parents look kindly upon.

So this time, Matt's lady love wanted to see him. All of 20 years of age and broken as students are, Matt weaseled out some money from his mom saying that he needs to buy new clothes. Of course, it was spent to travel to meet Nannie and spend some quality time with her. He had made some similar trips in the past, where my dumbass cousin tried to make out with his girlfriend behind a police station ( dont ask me what prompted him ) and the police almost arrested them for public obsenity ( no clothes were off, and this is not a Talibanic regimn, but Mallus think that kids are born when two people hold hands and prefer to keep thinking that way).

And now I get a call from Matt, on my mom's cell. He mom wants to see the shirts that he has bought with the money. The money which he spent to go and visit Nannie. So, after a quick discussion where I felt like a criminal mastermind - Tell your mom that you left the shirts with your friends. They will give it to you later here from the railway station. No no.... they dont have time to come to your home... and get two of your friends to backup the story - I agree to buy him the shirts.

Matt's father called him and treatened him that he will track his son down by asking the phone company to provide his roaming location. Fyi, Matt was supposed to be on a place about 250Km and six hours by road south from where he now actually is. The Luddites that he and Nannie are, they got spooked and call me. The gist of the call went somewhat like this:

Matt: Sis, dad will surely catch me.

Me: What? Coz of WHAT??? And you both believed that???? HAHAHAHAHAA!!!

Matt will be spending the early morning hours of 3am in the railway station, surrounded by mosquitos. He will then come to my home, and we will go and get the shirts which are to be presented to his mom.


Do I think that Matt and Nannie are made for each other? Hell, I have no idea. Do I think they should get married at the end of their bachelor degrees? Honestly, I don't care. I would rather they go their separate ways if they feel that they have changed than them try sticking together just for old times sake.

So why do I support them?

Because I always wanted a big sibling to confide to. To talk about frist loves and first heart aches. To talk of first sips of sprits and lost friendships. To have someone tell me that the elders in my family are a bit looney and that they dont know everything. To have someone from the family to eoncourage me to make my own choices, mistakes even, and learn from them. But I had to do with myself.

Because they need to make their own life decisions. They need to learn to be adults. I had a chance to stay away from home and learn my lessons, and I would not want my dumbass kid brother to miss the school of life. And what better lesson do we learn there than that which is taught by Cupid? If it works out, great for him. If not, I will always be there for him ( and for her too), his big sister.


Note: My blog readers, especially the non Indian ones, might wonder as to why two 20 year olds are afraid of seeing each other. Its because of financial dependency. All said and done, a lot of 16-24 year olds who study do not pay for it - their parents do. Add to this kids who stay with their parents till they are married or even after that, and a society which mostly condones love only on the big screen, not to mention the highly volatile sentiments related to cast, religion, ethnicity and social status.... its not an easy life for love stories to end in happily ever after.

Goodbye sweet....

Dear Nanamma*,


You should have waited. I was planning to bring you 70% chocolate, which would have melted in your mouth. Heaven may have very many things, but do they have 70% chocolate which taste like sin? I doubt it.

Instead, you just decided that its time for you to go, and off you went. You didn"t keep your word - you did not wait around to pet your first great grandchild - not that I was planning to have a baby anytime soon, but still, you could have waited a bit.



I can hear you saying "C"mmon kiddo" with your wide white smile - half believing, not knowing if i am pulling a fast one on you and pulling you leg. But hey, I never teased you when it came to chocolates. We both know that it is too serious a subject to play the fool with.



But we played the fool with everything else. We encouraged the dogs to romp on the bed, we read together cheesy local soap operasque romance novels - you were a young sixty four, and I was an old seven year old. We had mangoes for lunch - atleast when the adults were not looking, and you made me an addict to Maggie. I made a mess, cutting out papers and toppling chairs and yanking down curtains to create a forest, palace, palladin, or fort - as the case may be. You, and only you, allowed me to do so.



But how could you resist, me little enactments, you prima donna drama queen, you? You knew that I knew that you were overreacting, and took my pulling your leg in good humour.



You bought me books. And chewing gum. And candyfloss.



You took me to see Kathakali the way it should be seen. Under the starry sky, with a huge oil lamp dancing in the wind, you told me about the heroes and gods and godesses. You taught me about our culture, our heritage.



You spoiled grandpa. But then, you spoiled us all. With love, with putting us before everything - well, before almost everything. How many sarees do you have, all expensive, all unironed as you thought that Rs 1.5 is too much to pay to the ironing guy to tend to a Rs 3000 saree? You wore it the way you liked, all bunched up, so that if someone asked you to pretty please cook some maggie ( thats me ) or to hold the menacing two inch dog ( that MC, the 'fraidiest of the three of us) or to play with him ( thats AC - the one who took after you and me in family kookiness).



You were the only one geniunely disappointed when I told you, at 16, that no, I dont have a boyfriend. My parents and granddad breathed in relief. You felt that I was lying or that I didnt have a life.



You gave me my ego. That is a commendable effort, when we look back at the ones who thought ego was a bad thing, and I ought to have none of it. I could love you only for that.



You gave me pets, and allowed me to name them as I wished. And you loved them like I did.I am sure Puppy, Chinnu, Dash, Chitrapadma, Jillie, PussyCat, the myriad fishes and Torty have already given you a warm welcome up there, running around you, drooling all over you, winding around your feet and what not.



You gave me hope. You were the best example of why a hopeful, happy life is better. You had more than enough to feel sad and bitter about. You could not have walked out of the bitter and difficult early years of your marriage. Years later, you would still tell me with a twang of complaint in your voice, that it was not fair, grand dad was not fair. I would tell you that we can always divorce grandpa, and dont we have many a fair man who is smitten with your beauty to fall back on? You will chuckle delighted, granddad would look alarmed, and you would then blush.



You told me about grandpa's girlfriend who jilted him - and thus he had to marry you - but you shushed grandpa when he was about to retort with how you liked someone when you were a wee lass. I have tried bribing him with sweets and chocolates, but he didnt open his mouth. I think you would like to know that he was a bit afraid of you.



You were tiny. As in, tinier than me. And lean. And healthy, except for your imaginary illnesses for which, whenever I would suggest a remedy, you will decide not to take it. But some of them were true, result of marital strife and a life of poverty. You always had me to take your side, and I felt your pain against your still evil sister-in-law and would be quite frosty and will duck and cover against her wet sloppy kisses. So would the other two - MC and AC.



Your relatives thought of you as a bit silly. That you probably are. But they thought of you as a bit inconsequential. You were anything but. With your infinite patience and love, you held us, a bunch of fragmented egos, together.



You loved your spices, and made food fiery and hot. You loved colors, and wore too bright colors which even I thought was too bright. You loved to dress up, and wear your gold.



You introduced me to your neighbours -all Muslims and a few Christians - and their amazing food. It would have been so easy for me to just pretend-like them, and distrust and bitch about them behind their back. I have to thank you for my taste of the holy bread - which you proccured for me because I wanted to try it. Your were called "mom" by not just my mother and uncle, but b a whole street of people. You were the nice granny for about 7 to 8 kids, all unrelated by blood and only by love, at the last count. I was known as your granddaughter, about whom you bragged.



You were the one who got it first when I said that I want to live first, and then may be, marry later. You encouraged me to live life as I would want it, and travel as much as I can.



May be in a different life, I might have been you, and you, me.



Take care sweetheart - I will miss you like anything - I will miss baiting you with my tall tales and will miss the delight when you laugh at my jokes. I will miss discussing what to wear with you. I will miss your food - um, not really. But will definitely miss your pickles.



But now, rather than watching over us, I would be happier if you had the time of your death now. Take care, have a nice trip. And like our old pact, if you come back to visit as an all black crow and I had only one piece of chocolate in my hand, I will happily give it to you.



Anytime.


- Your granddaughter, who is indignant that you did not wait for me to come home and set off today, for new worlds.



Nanamma* - when I was a wee baby, I decided that my grand mom is my mom, and only mine. So I would say Njaan ( I ) Amma ( mom ) which basically meant "my mom" for a 1.5 year old me. The name stuck, and half the world would call her that as I grew up.


Addendum: I had talked to my dad for some time, when the exact reason for the death was told to me. There is a temple in Kerala, on top of a mountain called Sabarimala. My granny, at the age of 70+, went on a trek to the top of the mountain. The trek was done donning a sari and at least partially on donkeys, but the strain was too much for her frail, 5feet long, less than 35 Kg body. She did not tell of the trip to my mom, and forbade everyone around her from doing so, rightly worrying that she will get chewed out by her daughter for trying something foolhardy. The news leaked out to my dad today, and he passed it on to me. My mom doesn't know this. Yet.

And now I am happy. Of all the ways my granny could have died, this was one of the best. She did something she really wanted to do; and defying her children made it all the more sweeter for her. Even when she died, I am sure she died happy, the memories of her trek lingering in her mind. For a woman who loved exploring life as passionately as she did, but hardly had a chance to do so because of social mandates and responsibilities, in her last unconscious moments, she would have been preparing for her next big travel, eyes shining like black diamonds in excitement. It is a good way to say goodbye to the world, when you feel all alive and appreciate the gift of life.

Story time!

Once upon a time, there was a little girl in a little town. She was the only child of her parents, and in a bout of misguided enthusiasm, her parents decided to make her the most perfect kid, ever.

As kids are born with faults, and a desire to question and disobey in the process, the parents decided to opt for corporal punishment. The now not so little girl's first memory of her life ever - is being suspended in mid air by her father holding her up and getting beaten. Household tales peg her at that time to be two. She had dared to be impolite to a guest during her birthday and refused to share the sweet porridge with her.

The little girl did not mind it much. For she thought that this was how all parents were. She did not go much into the houses of her friends, and even if she did, her parents were always ready to point out how easily the other kids obeyed their parents. So the little girl thought that she is being beaten because she is horribly bad, and that she herself is a bad bad child unlike the other kids, who love their parents despite the repeated beatings that they all have to undergo.

The little girl was pinched, hit, belted, shoved and pushed for her various misdemeanours by the time she was in class four. After that, her parents started to verbally abuse her. (I would have reproduced the abuses here, but for the 'objectionable content' flag of blogger.com) She never felt beautiful, felt that she was always too short or too tall, or too thin.

Years passed with no changes in the life equations. She still got abused, still thought that it was normal. She felt guilty as she did not love her parents, and her guilt validated the abuse that she was subjected to. She led a double life - happy and gregarious in school, dutiful in her extended family but feeling like the ugly duckling.

Somewhere along the line, she acquired spectacles. That it itself is an interesting story, for when she first noticed that she could not see and told the same to her mother, she accused her of lying and was chided for her attention seeking behaviour. It took many more months and a starting power of around -2.5 and -3 for her to get her first pair of glasses.

One fine day, her bubble was burst. Her friends in engineering hostel listened in horrified silence when she casually mentioned some of the abuses that her parents used to shower on her. Then it was her chance to be shocked and stunned as she was told that no, parents don't usually talk to their kids that way and no; kids also do not get beaten up that much.

At this point, I would like to write that the girl ultimately forgave her parents, her parents repented, she found the boy of her dreams and they all lived happily ever after.

You fools, but this is not a fairy tale. Realism sucks big time. The girl is now emotionally disconnected from her parents - she develops hypoallergenic drug requiring reactions when she talks to them ( can we have this in Ripley's believe it or not? ). She had met many men whom when she kissed, morphed from Princes to frogs and went croaking away. Her parents still think that they have done and are doing the best for her. She is over analytical, is a chronic pessimist, and need constant signs of approval and affection. She cannot go with the flow, she is too crippled for that. I think she is going to grow old and lonely and grow into a grumpy and silent old lady with a few dogs and cats for company. Or she may drink herself to liver cirrhosis and to early death. She doesn't care too much about herself anyways, and on bad days, the bitter reality of her life gnaws away at the last piece of rotting optimism in her kitchen shelf.

Now you know why she never goes home.

Now you know why she is chronically insecure and looks out for insults when none is implied.

Now you know why she doesn't want to get too close to you.

Now you know why she gets close to you despite not wanting to be close to you.

Now you know why she drinks herself to oblivion.

Now you know how she knows good things will never happen to her.

Now you know how she knows she is never good enough.

Now you know why she loves animals so much.

And like a doctor who is a drug junkie, she knows what is wrong, but cannot cure herself.

Ha ha! Gotcha you fellers! What did you expect, another sappy happy story? There is lot more to tell, but lets save it for another day, shall we?