The Story of My Name

The story behind my name, or names can take upto ten pages of writing. Valsala, that's my name .I never quite liked my name.i always felt that it sounded old and befitted an old kerala nanny. Burt Mom had a friend in college who was called by that name and she was drop dead gorgeous!And Amma named me after that gorgeous buddy.

I was thin and scrawny as a child and not drop dead gorgeous as my namesake , Valsala Thomas, and soon enough,Mom gave up hopes of me being even remotely pretty.  

Years later ,I was made to realise that I had a beautiful name on two occasions.

The first instance was when  Gaurav,my team leader at Standard Chartered Bank, Chennai,  called my name out loudly and kept repeating it, and suddenly he turned to me and opined, ' What a beautiful name"!

I was taken aback!

The other instance was when Mike Dooley, to whom I had sent an online query, appeared on video call:he kept rolling out my name and asked me, Valsala, you have a beautiful name, what does it mean? It was music to my ears and soul...

that made me reflect deeply on my name, and I started liking it better. I loved the meaning since my name typically comes from the sanskrit word valsalyam, meaning affection.

Vats, means child. I loved that too...friends and family call me Vals, lovingly, and I started enjoying it. 

My niece and nephew and their cousins call me Kabi- short and sweet, and to me, it started sounding like I was one among them, mischievous and kiddish.

My daughter calls me Chevi, or Eli, or Ears , or Jacqui.

I myself insist on being called Jacqui,after my favorite author, Jacqui Penn.

As a kid, I have always gorged myself on Russian folklore, and in most of those tales, Masha , a little perky girl, has been the central character. And as a kid, I always loved Masha's antics and loved being called that. 

For some reason, Hari calls me Masthomer, and it sounds like a netflix series I watched recently- The Cook of Castamere. I never realised I had so many names, and with each name, I transform myself.

Does it mean that within us, we all nurture varied persona? Are we all different people at different times?

Long ago, to regale Ninjoo, I created  a fictitious character, "Masha The Elie'. And as the name suggests, Elie is a rat.And this Masha is an erudite scholar who works as a part time librarian in the British Council Library. She loved gnawing her way through tomes of books. A cute little thing with mischievous twinkly eyes that peer out at you from beneath her round spectacles. .So the story unravels.....

My favorite and long time buddy Dr Anil Kumar calls me idli kutti, since i am tiny, according to him.And as our friendship grew, I became I kutti. I called him Dundu boy, which later became D boy. Reflecting back on it,I realise that all of us have a child lurking deep within us, not wanting to grow up or let go of intrigue and mystic, that most often goes misplaced as we become adults.

Talking about intrigue and mystic, is that why i named my blog rendezvouswithval?so that i get to cling on to the mysterious and elusive aspect that's probably me?

THE CHUTNEY GURU

It’s a lovely Monday morning, and I languidly got up from the sofa and stretched my limbs idly. Its breakfast time and I felt like having hot idlis and spicy hot green chutney to go with it. I busied myself scraping coconut and diligently, without even giving it much thought, added eleven green chillies , a slice of onion half a teaspoon of salt and blended it well in the mixer grinder. I am sure people reading this would be appalled at the number of green chillies I have added to the chutney mix without even a thought. Well, for me, it’s a magical number. I scooped a spoon of the ground chutney and tasted it and my thoughts were instantly transported back to my childhood days in Ernakulam

Summer vacations were always spent at our ancestral home at Ernakulam. It was a childhood ritual that all of us cousins would conglomerate at our ancestral home and spend all our summer vacations idling away our days there, with games, constant bickering and what not. On a typical day at Thottekat house, on waking up, none of us would be in any kind of hurry to adhere to a routine or go down for breakfast at any fixed time. While we dilly dallied and dawdled around chatting, our maternal Uncle Ammaama as we all called him, would ascend the wooden steps to the grand hall where we would all be lying around, and announce in soft tones, ‘ Kaapi kudikyan varu’, which means that all of us should go down for breakfast. Tall, wiry, with an aquiline nose and sharp eyes, a gentle smile lingering on his lips for us as he looked around us, that’s my Ammaama. 

Obediently we trundled down the stairs, deliberately treading heavily on the wooden stairs to create the maximum ruckus while descending. Needless to say, the entire household used to be aware of us all coming in for breakfast. 

Seated in the large dining hall, we were served piping hot idlis and red coconut chutney on porcelain plates specially imported in those days from China. I used to love having my idlis on these pale blue plates with the picture of a huge differently hued bird etched on it. 

The chutney used to be hot and spicy.

My granny once tasted the chutney and said, ‘bhayankara erivu’.( it’s too hot and spicy)

The family chef Parameswaran Nair who was standing obediently beside granny quipped, ‘Amma, I want some dried red chillies for making erisseri this afternoon”

He was a tall, upright, well built man, sporting just a dhothi and a long white cloth slung carelessly over his shoulder, which he used to wipe his face and hands with. His most interesting feature was his lips, especially the lower lip, which was broad, adding a touch of insolence or arrogance to his features.

Granny looked at him in wide eyed wonder- ‘What! Just this morning I gave you eleven red chillies!”

Parameswaran Nair replied-‘then what else did I use to make this chutney?’

Granny- ‘you used all eleven?!!!

He cackled loudly in reply, and I found this interaction between the two highly interesting and enlightening. I used to love his chutneys and even though I was a school going kid at that time, the magical number 11 stuck in the recesses of my mind.

Years later, when I started cooking for my family, inevitably and even without thinking, I used the magical number 11 to make chutneys, whether it be red or green chutneys. Without fail, it always came right. Maybe I was blessed by my first guru in culinary skills, Parameswaran Nair. 

My husband and daughter go gaga over my chutneys and each time I mentally pay homage to my culinary guru Parameswaran Nair. 

Decades have passed, and I am sure my favourite chef must have passed on to a better world. But as Dronacharya was to Ekalavya, I still owe him Gurudakshina. 

Years later, my granny was giving away all her belongings to her kith and kin, and she asked me too , to choose from all her possessions. The most prized possession I ever wanted was the blue porcelain china plate with the picture of the bird. To this day, I have that plate and it occupies pride of place among my other plates.  It has a story to tell of how a little girl used to relish having hot idlis and chutneys on that plate. Niranjana, my daughter, knowing how attached I am to that plate, lovingly gifted me  blue jug with the picture of a bird on it, and later on she made a blue porcelain cup for me from Budapest, a personalised one to go with my plate and jug. 

The trio- the plate, jug and mug are so close to my heart and treasured and so are memories of my dear chef cum chutney guru, Parameswaran Nair 

A STREET SPARKED FOODIE ANECDOTE

It’s been days since I penned down a post in my own blog… some other things took precedence over my writing. Excuses galore, and laziness added to it, and I refrained from doing what I love to do best.

Even though my days were spent in writing to various magazines and random scribbles in my journal, I somehow neglected my own kind of writing for quite a while. What sparked the story teller in me was a random visit on my way back from Malayali club to a way side street food stall. Hari and I had walked in to get some spicy potato chips to munch while watching a movie, when my eyes fell on spicy red coloured mouth-watering cauliflower Manchurians in bowls over the counter. 

It was not just the cauliflower Manchurians ,in fact it brought back a whole lot of memories of another time, another era perhaps, of several summers ago, when Ninjoo was still at school.

Time stood for me while my thoughts raced back to the days at Sangam apartments in Kilpauk. Hot summers were most welcome then, and we used to look forward to ice cream smoothies, mangoes galore, and of course, these cauliflower Manchurians. Back in those days, we used to have a little girl living in our apartment complex by the name Nagarathinam. I used to call her fondly Naga, and on most days, she was always with us, and she used to reluctantly go back home to sleep. She was as fond of us as we were of her, and she was like a little kid sister for Ninjoo. 

Since I was helping her with her studies, she used to be at my place from morning to evening on weekends and on holidays.  She was family for me and Ninjoo and every time we thought of ice creams, Ninjoo and Naga used to make a beeline for the nearest ice cream shop.  On the pretext of studying, hot summers were whiled away licking yummy ice cream smoothies and biting into luscious ripe mangoes. She used to love my potato stew and I used to call her to have lunch with us whenever I made potato stew. 

One of those days, we discovered these cauliflower Manchurians and a street vendor used to come near our apartment every evening by 8. Naga and Ninjoo used to have their eyes glued to the clock and as soon as it struck 8, they made a run for the door and were back in minutes with packets of these yummy cauliflower delicacies.

 Years whizzed past, we moved away from Sangam, Naga had to return to her home town Rajahmundry because of her mother’s sudden and unfortunate demise. But we still managed to keep in touch, although randomly.

 The little girl who was in the fifth when we were in Sangam is now a software engineer. She used to call me occasionally and just a few days ago, she called to say that her marriage had been solemnised. I was so very happy for her and even though we couldn’t attend her wedding, we decided to meet up in Chennai.

Hello, mam’- the shopkeeper’s voice brought me back to the present. As a tribute to my little Naga, and for Ninjoo and for a glorious summer at Sangam and for all our fond memories , I decided to buy these cauliflower delicacies. 

While penning this down, as though there is a telepathic connect, my phone pinged. It was a message from Naga.

‘Hi Auntie, I am at your home town with my husband Yashwant. We are proceeding to Munnar from Kochi. We decided to honeymoon at Kerala as a tribute to you, Auntie.’

My eyes welled up at these words… Naga, you alre always fondly remembered and cherished,, may you stay blessed….

Reveries unplugged

I am on the beach at Kanyakumari, with my parents and siblings. We drove down to this cape town and I am thrilled!. I can see the bright white sands of the beach and the waves in frothy white creamy layers lapping gently at the shore. This is Kanyakumari, the land of the beautiful Goddess in love, and this place has always intrigued me. More than the vast stretch of beach or the Vivekananda rock, I am fascinated by the tale of the Goddess residing here. I find it very romantic and a little sad to imagine the Goddess in all her beautiful bridal attire waiting for the Lord of the lords, Mahadev to wed her, but due to a prank played by Narada, the cock crows early, and Mahadev, thinking that the sacred hour of wedlock is past, retraces his steps back home. Goddess remains  on this island, her love remaining unrequited.  

I find this tale deeply moving and my heart goes out to this lovely Goddess. 

This island has always intrigued and fascinated me . I love watching the golden orb of the sun vanish into the seas, setting the sands aflame . The sands on the beach here are multi hued; legend has it that the Goddess threw away the turmeric and saffrons kept ready for the holy wedlock. 

The breeze tugs at my stray locks while I remain standing on the beach lost in my reveries. The sky turns deep purple and slowly the moon rises;I can smell the salty tang of the sea, and even though I feel elated at being here, I feel sad for the Goddess. We worship her at the temple, and the glitter and glow of her nose stud mesmerizes me.  As it shines brightly, I watch as if in a trance...

Mom wants me to retire to bed early but my sister and I want to do a bit of shopping. As we traverse down the beach, an insistent shopkeeper tries to sell me a hair band but I refuse. But his crestfallen face tugs at my heart as we walk away. And it continues to haunt me through the night!...

I wish i had bought that hair band...

the day dawns bright and fresh and we go out to the beach to watch the sun rise in all its magnificent glory. I am wearing a bright orange kurta and black pants to go with it; my hair is tied back with a scarf to keep my wayward hair in check.

My spirits soar as I watch the sunrise, and its beams ignite the waves and lend them a sparkle all on its own...  I know I wouldn't be returning here any time soon.. and i drink in the scenario wanting it to remain forever etched in memory.

My eyes scan the beach for the way side vendor.. but I do not find him anywhere. I finally settle for buying a hair band from another eager vendor and I console myself thinking that I had done my wee bit towards helping humanity. 

Its time to leave the island. As we board the car, my heart feels heavy. I feel immensely sad at leaving the beautiful Goddess alone on this island. As the car weaves its way through the beach side road, I glance out at the sparkling waves. . Each sparkling wave reminds me of the Goddess's resplendent diamond nose stud,and I feel that she is beckoning me to stay back and keep Her company.

' I will be back soon'- I assure Her in my mind...." and just You and me can take long walks along the moon washed beach at night, and i want you to tell me about your unrequited love...'

A gust of wind tugs at my scarf and a flower from nowhere, falls on to my lap.. 

I feel blessed, I knew the Goddess had acknowledged my deep love for Her.

' 

T

MONSOON REVERIES

Vidhu opened an eye and glanced lazily at the time on her mobile. It showed 6.45 AM. She turned her gaze towards the window and was surprised to see that it was still dark outside. She clambered out of bed and stood gazing out through the window. The tall apartment building that she could see from her window situated just half a kilometer away was not bathed in golden sunshine as it usually was. Instead, heavy dark monsoon clouds loomed low and large over the horizon. The vast vacant plot of land with verdant greenery spread out just below her apartment contrasted well with the dark clouds. Vidhu felt a sense of peace and calm settle over her.

Heavy monsoon showers over the past two days had made water collect in stagnant pools in the verdant green plot of land and Vidhu noticed a white stork winging gracefully in a lovely arc and swooping down to catch tiny fish from these stagnant pools. There were a lot of storks and herons who come back every year to make it their home during the monsoons. A few of them could be seen settling happily on to the backs of buffalos having a swim in the pools.

Vidhu made herself a piping hot cup of tea and settled down on the window sill to watch the birds and buffaloes, while casually turning the pages of the Sunday papers. She felt a kinship with the buffaloes, lazily grazing away with not a worry in the world. The entire day stretched ahead of her and she was undecided as to what she wanted to do the whole day. Half her mind craved for some fun and spontaneity. Vidhu moved towards her bookshelf lined with all her treasured collection of books by her favorite authors. She lovingly traced the outline of the well catalogued books with her fingers until it stopped at one titled’ The Night Train at Deoli’ by her favorite writer Ruskin Bond. She stood stock still as a seedling of an idea formed in her mind. Yes. Trains. That was what she wanted to do for the day. She decided to take a local train from Chetpet and go all the way up to the last station, meander around for a while, getting lost in the milling crowds and then come back home..

 Until just over a year ago, Vidhu had been working for a magazine at Adyar, and she had so loved commuting on the trains. She had loved the journey, taking in the essence and soul of the people who travelled with her, the sights and sounds, the vendors on the trains, all of them had been fodder for her writer’s soul. With her husband away on a business tour, Vidhu had the entire day to herself. With her mind made up, she quickly showered, changed into a baby pink salwar, grabbed her purse, mobile, glasses and her journal and made her way out.

As she approached the station, there was a loud clap of thunder, and it started to pour. Oops! In her hurry, she had forgotten her umbrella. ‘Was it a bad idea to have come out in this rain?’- she brushed the thought aside.

Vidhu waited patiently in the long meandering queue to get her tickets It was raining cats and dogs and she felt the cold seeping in to her soul and dampening her enthusiasm.

“Gosh! I am hungry, lonely and to top it all I have forgotten my umbrella too. Silly me’- she berated herself. The train chugged in to the station and with a resigned sigh she got in and thankfully found a window seat. It being Sunday and a rainy day at that, there weren’t many passengers, and that made her feel all the more alone and depressed.

As the train rattled along, the rain dwindled to a mere drizzle and her mood lifted slightly. But she realized with a jolt that she had missed her breakfast entirely and now she was ravenously hungry. She hoped that a vendor would come in at the next station selling fruits or her favorite butter biscuits.

As the train stopped at the next station, instead of a vendor, a tall, well built handsome young man sporting a white long sleeved shirt and blue jeans alighted on to the train. He strode purposefully to where she was seated and sat opposite her. He had a back pack straddled on his back, a camera, handicam, and a huge lunch bag. Vidhu felt a smile tug at her lips and she turned away and kept looking out of the window. From his backpack he took out a book, his mobile, a newspaper, and with just a nod in her direction he went on texting someone. A keen observer of human nature, Vidhu turned her focus on to the young man and started studying him surreptitiously.

All of a sudden he glanced up at her and smiled. Mildly taken aback, yet Vidhu smiled back. He resumed his texting. After a while, he took out a tightly rolled parcel from his bag and unpacked it. Vidhu noticed that there were rotis and homemade pickles which he attacked with gusto. She felt her mouth water, and could even feel her stomach growl. Feeling embarrassed, she turned away from him and kept staring out through the window.

“Care to have some of my home made rotis and pickle? My mom is an amazing cook’- the young man spoke to her with a smile.

She smiled back but politely declined. A moment later, he brandished an orange and peeled it. He handed her half of it and said,” Of course you can’t say No to an orange. It’s great for warding off colds in this weather’.

She found it immensely funny and biting back a laugh, she gracefully accepted the orange. Next, he unpacked crisp kakras, sprinkled peanut powder on them liberally and handed one to her.

“Oh no…  I don’t want these”- Vidhu exclaimed.

‘Come on… this is a North Indian delicacy. I am sure you would love to have some khakras in this weather. They are homemade ones. Please have some.”

Vidhu’s stomach took precedence over her mind and she found herself tucking in to the lovely khakras. Both of them shared a companionable silence while they ate.

‘I am a software engineer, but on weekends I pursue my passion, and that is photography. “- smilingly explained the young man.” I freelance quite a lot, and for a lot of travel magazines and blogs. I have my own blog too.’

Vidhu smiled back and introduced herself as a freelance writer and novelist in the making.

“Are you going someplace to meet someone? To write about them? I am sorry if I am being inquisitive”- the young man smiled apologetically.

“Well, I love commuting by these local trains, and travelling on them inspires me a lot and gives me ample material to weave into my writings’- explained Vidhu.

“‘Great... By the way, I am Naman. My wife is away at her home for her delivery. Felt bored being at home all alone and decided to come out with my equipment to capture pics for my next project, titled the Monsoon Reverie.”

“Wow! That’s fantastic. I am Vidhu . My husband too is away on a business tour and I too responded to my impulsive adventurous instinct.”- Vidhu felt an easy camaraderie developing between them both.

They continued talking about books and it was easy light hearted yet intelligent banter. An hour later, it was time for them to both get off the train.

“Well, I am getting off here. I t was nice meeting you’- smiled Naman.

“Me too. It has been fun. And thanks for the food. I was truly ravenous.”

“My pleasure. I just responded to your stomach’s rumbling for food”.

She looked up startled and noticed him sporting a mischievous smile.

She too chuckled happily.

“Well, I am gonna randomly walk around shooting pics. I have no special agenda in mind’- Naman

Do you need me to find you a cab to take you some place? - queried Naman

Vidhu hesitated-“Well, I had no agenda at all. Actually I too had thought of randomly roaming around the whole day, taking in sights and sounds and losing myself in anonymity.”

“Why don’t you join me for the day? You know, it sounds strange, we have just met, nut if you can trust me enough, we can both go around this place randomly shooting and observing. Your writer’s keen mind will help me spot god pics to be shot as well”- Naman looked expectantly at her.

“And…”- Naman drawled

Vidhu looked askance at him.

“Don’t worry about food. There’s enough food to feed an army in my back pack”. Vidhu burst into laughter at that and Naman grinned impishly.

The duo continued towards the exit in companionable silence.

Outside, Naman got busy with his camera. Thankfully the rain had abated for a while, even though the sky was heavily over cast.

In the little town of Chenkalpet, Naman went wild with his camera, shooting pics of cycle rickshaws plying slowly in the rain, children splashing themselves in the puddles, share cabs plying packed with passengers and making their way slowly in the already flooded streets. He shot pics of vendors selling hot cups of tea, coffee, and spicy bajjis crisp samosa, and masala peanuts. A remote and less travelled side street had a slowly ambling bullock cart making its way towards the main road, and the man inside was smoking a hookah, and Naman ‘s camera went crazy mopping up all these shots.

Vidhu found these interesting and immensely fascinating as he followed him around,. Nothing seemed to miss Naman’s keen eye; a flower blooming amidst a thicket with rain drops clinging to it thrilled them both. A shaft of sunlight streaming in through the branches of a tree at noon time; women clustered around a stove and gossiping while cooking fascinated him and they smiled shyly at him while he snapped up their pics.

“Whew…’

Naman and Vidhu plopped down on a bench in a way side park. Vidhu took out her journal and scribbled fast in her journal, eager not to miss out details of this amazing day. Naman meanwhile fiddled with his camera.

“I am hungry. I have some delicious mushroom fried rice, pappads and raita. Let’s tuck in. There’s a lot.  Mon still thinks I am a growing boy ‘- Naman unpacked the lunch bag and they shared the lovely delicious food between them. The wintry skies watched over them and send a refreshing breeze on its way, to cool them and Vidhu closed her eyes in absolute contentment.

“Now for a fruit. Catch”- Naman took out two apples from his backpack and threw one at her.. Vidhu caught it deftly and bit into the succulent fruit.

While they ate, Naman spoke about his family, his wife, mom, sister and Vidhu felt as if she had known them all along.

After a while he lapsed into silence and said, “You know something? The day has turned out fun and interesting, thanks to you. Just this morning I was hoping that something interesting and out of the blue would happen and it has!”

“Yes, for me too. If not for you, I would have taken the next train back home”- smiled Vidhu.

They cleared out their lunch and then strolled down lazily down random streets.

Near a small temple under a banyan tree, they spotted a kili jyotsiar, (an astrologer cum palmist with a parrot to assist him). Catching sight of them, he offered to read their palms. Naman brushed his request aside with a smile and wanted to just shot pics of him and his parrot. The fellow posed for Naman and he was even paid for posing for the pic.

They worshipped the banyan tree Ganesh and then Naman said-“It is nearly 4.30. Shall we have some tea and then catch the train back home?”

“Of course yes. I need to get back home before it gets too dark”- Vidhu agreed.

I t started drizzling mildly and immediately the pedestrians opened out their umbrellas. It was a colorful scenario with lots of umbrellas of different hues opening out and Naman went to work shooting pics.

They made their way to a cozy tea shop and ordered hot tea and plates of crisp masala dosas.

While they ate, Naman said,” You know, I am glad I followed my instincts. “

Vidhu concurred with a smile-“ I too was thinking on the same lines. If I had decided to stay at home, I would have missed out on this beautiful day. ‘

“Yes”- Naman smiled. ‘I read a lot and a book I had read recently says that whatever we ask of the Universe, it provides.”

Vidhu’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “I guess we both asked the Universe for some amazing fun and adventure”.

“Yes! You said it , and we got it”- Naman guffawed loudly.

They walked to the station, alighted on the train and for the rest of the journey back home, they caught up on discussing about books, music, and friendship and surprisingly they found that their interests matched.

“All good things come to an end”- sighed Vidhu as the train chugged into Chennai.

“Not necessarily. Here’s my card with my number. Let’s keep in touch Thank you Universe, for a great new friend”- smiled Naman as they shook hands and parted ways. Vidhu handed him her card too.

Naman helped her into a cab and as she settled back in it, Vidhu felt as light as the rain drops falling all around her outside.

“It pays to listen to your heart, to your instincts’- Vidhu smiled to herself.

Her mobile tinkled. She looked down and noticed a text from Naman. “Thanks for a beautiful day… and good things do not have to end.. It goes on..”

She texted back-yes, it goes on… forever..”

CHILDHOOD MEMORABILIA

Kovilpatti will always remain etched in my memory. Even after all these years, if I close my eyes, I am transported back to “Sivagnana Nilayam, 131, vakil street, Kovilpatti. It was my home for the first 8 years my life- a happy home in all respects.

It used to be tastefully decorated by Mom, and our tiny garden had a huge profusion of flowers in a riot of colors; purple, mauve, white and magenta bougainvillea dotted the place. In my mind’s eye, I am still the little girl of four, striding down the long corridor to the backyard, where there is a tall and lissome neem tree offering us plenty of shade. It was home to umpteen chirpy squirrels too .The entire backyard is strewn with tiny neem fruits.

Every evening, I used to wait in eagerness for my friend Nirmala residing next door to drop in. She used to be the color of warm chocolate with shiny bright eyes, and a winsome smile. Nimmi was one year older to me and she had started school while I was yet to be enrolled in school. “Tomorrow I have school that is why I came to play today’, she would say every evening. I never got around to asking her why she said that every day.  Dad had brought us both two tiny buckets, and our favorite pastime used to be collecting the maximum number of fallen neem fruits. They all were stored in our tiny buckets. Days later, after we had forgotten about these tiny fruits, inevitably Dad would find them in varied stages of putrefaction and he would throw them all out snorting disgustedly. Watching him do that made us collapse into giggles, and it only helped to infuriate him further.

Nirmala‘s mom was a very pretty and kind lady, who used to be great friends with my Mom. Mom too was fond of Nimmi, as we used to call Nirmala. Once, Mom bought us both identical dresses. Atop and a skirt, both in bright orange, with black and white flowers embroidered on them. Nimmi came home wearing it and I too scrambled away to wear it, and we posed for Nimmi’s Dad to click away pics of us both.

Unfortunately Dad never clicked pics of us both, so Nimmi, as we so fondly call her, is relegated to just fond memories.

Not a single evening passed without her dropping in to talk and play. Since she was slightly older than me, she took it upon herself to cuddle and baby me and I quite enjoyed the attention.

On birthdays we exchanged standard gifts of chocolate boxes with lovely pictures on them. More than the chocolate, we treasured the boxes. I still remember receiving a chocolate box with the picture of a skier on it, skiing down a snowy mountain slope.

Suppose I had one too many boxes, Dad used to take my permission to use the least liked of the lot to store his shaving set. I loved the fact that Dad dint take me for granted and used to seek my permission. Maybe he was teaching me basic good manners and the fact never to take anyone for granted by all these tiny acts.

My happy companionship days came to an abrupt stand still when Nimmi left us all suddenly. Her Dad, a bank officer, was transferred to another city. We bid them a tearful farewell, and since in those days, we had no Face book or mobile, to keep us connected, we just drifted apart. Mom used to walk down to their house and weep thinking of Nimmi. She wept harder when her eyes fell on a toy clockwork clown left behind by the little girl, and it was standing alone and forlorn behind closed doors.

After Nimmi left, the neem tree was my best friend and sole solace. Beneath the neem tree, grew large clusters of spinach plants and I used to pluck them for Mom to make tasty upperi.

I so used to look forward to the advent of the ghee lady. She would make herself available every month, and on her arrival, Mom would give her a stove and she would seat herself under the neem tree. I would squat beside her and watch her as she made lovely fragrant frothy golden hued ghee from the home made butter Mom gave her. Mom used to make homemade butter by pouring thick curd into Horlicks bottles and she would keep shaking the bottle continuously until the butter separated from the curd.

I never had any playmates after Nimmi left, so my evenings were spent watching my brother play ball badminton with his cronies.

By late evening, we pulled out chairs and settled ourselves down in the garden, amidst the lovely bougainvilleas. In those days, there were several hours of power cut in Tamil Nadu.  Dad bought us a transistor and we used to listen to ‘chalachitraganangal (Malayalam movie songs) while we waited for the power to resume. On full moon days, the garden used to be bathed in ethereal moon beams with a gentle breeze tugging at our long tresses. On some nights, we used to even sleep on the terrace, under a lovely blanket of stars.

Those were the days , when I knew so much of happiness, and nothing could mar the steady pace and rhythm of our lives. If only I could set back the clock…..

GOING BACK IN TIME…..

It is late evening. Mom, Dad, my brother and I get into our Ambassador car. I look out through the window and to my delight, I see a star spangled sky..Not even an inch of the sky is left empty. It looks more like a Silver Star spangled carpet. Adorning it is the moon in all its glory, looming large. The moon is my friend. Somehow to my lonely 5 year old self, and to my vivid imagination, I always envisage a bunny rabbit snuggled well inside the moon. The bunny too is my buddy.

As my Dad drives, the moon seems to be following our car and I gaze at it in wide eyed wonder. As Dad drives out through the outskirts of the little town of Kovilpatti, towards an ancient hill temple nestled atop a nearby hillock, Kurumalai, I can hear Mom ranting on about my sister who is in a hostel at Nagercoil, pursuing her studies. Dad drives on silently. I watch my brother snoring away peacefully; it has been a long day for him at the school, what with NCC Camp, hockey practice and so on.

It is dark outside, except for the moon beams illumining our way. Dad drives on towards an unmanned railway station. This particular station holds a lot of mystery, intrigue and fear to my childlike mind. What if a train came hurtling by as we were about to cross the rails? I shuddered at the thought. Well, my dad is fearless and strong, he would guide us away from all danger, and my trusting mind assured me.

The breeze picks up speed as we drive up the brief yet steep hillock. I hug myself... brrr… it is very cold and chilly and the wind whips at us, as we tumble out of the car, my brother and I. Dad parks the car and we walk towards the ancient Shiva temple, that remains bathed in silvery moonlight. We come here every month on full moon day; the chief priest at this temple, the “siddhan” as mom calls him is treating her holistically to cure her of asthma which has been ravaging her thin frail body for ages. Thanks to him, to a large extent, the treatment has been successful and her asthma attacks have become few and far between. The siddhan combines faith healing, spirituality and naturopathy to treat several patients who come to him for remedy and solace.

Inside the temple precincts, I bow down to my favorite deity Lord Shiva. As the night deepens, the wind picks up velocity and blows hard, freezing and chilling me to my bones. A willowy, wisp of a kid that I am, I half expect to be blown down the hillock pretty soon. I imagine myself hurtling down the dark brooding hill, and an icy tendril of fear travels down my spine. My Mom gives me a nudge and I am broken out of my reverie.

Within the temple, on the right hand corner, there is a well with ice cold water and everyone is required to either bathe in this ice cold water or at the very least, wash the hands and feet with the water from the well .Dad draws up some water and beckons to me. I tenderly dip a finger into the bucket. OUCH! My brother pours some water over my legs and I howl and screech in protest.

My mom shushes me, and I look on in horror as a bevy of ladies walk briskly up to the well, draw up icy cold water and without batting an eyelid, and pour it over their heads!

The strident ringing of the temple bells has my attention diverted and I pray in obeisance and devotion. The whole temple is lined with camphor and they are all lit at the same time, and this exudes an aura of the whole temple being on fire. I feel awed and terrified at the same time, by the continued chiming of the huge temple bells and the lamps and camphor lines being all lit at the same time... I feel as if all my senses have been brought to a point of total awareness and my hair stands on end. The chilly wind continues its assault and I cow down behind Mom in fear and trepidation.

Some of the devotees sway in a rhythmic dance as the bells continues to chime and arathi is done. The fumes from the arathi assault my nostrils and I feel as if I would drown myself in the smoke and flames arising all around us. This is repeated at each sanctum sanctorum of the deities presiding in the temple, mainly in front of Lord Shiva’s and Goddess Parvathi’s. The noise ascends to a deafening crescendo as we approach the Goddess’s sanctorum. As I watch in wide eyed wonder, the full moon in all her glory comes in line with the abode of the Goddess and I can see Devi’s nose stud glittering in the dark.

Years later, I still remember and cherish the ethereal beauty and the tantric ambiance created by the Siddhan. Finally, it is time to go home. Mom takes consultation from the siddhan who gives her some dried herbs and twigs to partake daily, and also some prasadam   .Eyes heavy with sleep, we clamber back in to the car. I look out and I see the moon with its bunny inside smiling down cheerily at me, assuring me that it will follow me back home. I smile back and bid a silent good bye to the now silent hillock that is the abode of the Lord and His Divine Consort, and I am sure they would continue their cosmic dance in peace and solitude.