In the bustling temple town of Guruvayur, my ‘tharavadu’ stands regally, amidst swaying coconut palms and mango, jackfruit and earlier some cashew trees. The Koddakkat Thayakkat house is said to be more than 300 years old and I have heard from my mother that her grandmother’s mother was born in this house. My grandmother was Karthiyayini and her mother Narayani and it has been passing hands to the women in each generation per the “marumakkathayam” norms of the matriarchal society. Surrounding the house is the ‘muttom’ which, in my grandmother’s time was kept clean of weeds and grass and had pristine white sand where we as children have made many sand castles and fought over whose is better and bigger.
Over the past decade I have visited my home in Guruvayur many times and each time I wonder about how my ancestors would have lived there, what would have been their dreams for the home that they created. The dilemma becomes even more when upkeep of this dear home becomes difficult and thoughts of disposing it off creeps into the mind. All this gets compounded by the fact that this is one home where I am completely at peace because I get a sense of security, calm and belonging.
I wonder what my grandmother, great-grandmother and those before them, hoped and aspired for this home and its people? To hold and cherish the home? To love and keep its people together? For its people to go out into the world, achieve their own success?
From my mother and uncles and aunt, i have heard stories about my great-grandmother, Narayani. As I know my great-grandmother from the tales I have heard, she was a stoic woman, who led the household with a lot of integrity and compassion, including the families working our agricultural land and within the home. No celebrations was a celebration until the family and the extended family and the workers celebrated together and he workers were well fed. I have heard of courageous stories of Parukutty Amma and Amminni Amma, who used to help in the household and who cared for the members of the family. Of how they nursed the children and adults through typhoid in the pre-anti biotic days. She was a stickler for discipline and cleanliness and would drive away children with dirty hands and have them come back to her with clean hands and feet after a bath. Of Lazarappan and his family, with whose children I am friends with, having had rollicking times during summer vacation time. This generation too is in some form involved but its more the relationship that survived.
My grandmother, Karthiyayini, is someone I know very well because I have grown up spending time with her during vacations, receiving letters from her and also her staying with us in Delhi. She was a regal woman and came across as a person with a immense self assurance, confidence and probably a very brave individual. I am told that she managed the home and her ill mother singlehandedly for many years as her husband was posted at various cities and towns as he held a government job. Sounds easy but I am sure that in the days when she had to manage the agricultural land, take care of four children, a sick mother and families supporting the running of the home, and all this without the comfort of electricity, telephones and other electronic luxury gadgets that we have today. She stayed on here as long as it was possible after she was widowed. She was only forty five when my grandfather died. She did her best to send forth her children into the world, sons for careers and married off her daughters. She cherished us, her grand children and I remember her as firm yet loving grandmother. There were never too many cuddles or kisses but I knew for certain that I was loved by her. She would prepare elaborately for our arrival during the summer vacation by pickling mangoes, preparing fish curry, making sure that there was atlas one instance of “thengukettam” or coconut harvesting while I was there, because she knew that I loved the excitement of the event. She also made sure that she spoke with a local shop keeper to hire a cycle for me for the time that I was there. She made her own squash from ripe mangoes and called it “mangola”. Slowly she aged and then she lived with my aunt in Bangalore and with us in Delhi. She wore white, crisply starched “mundu” and “veshti” and was elegance personified.
When in Delhi, I came to understand how intelligent my grandmother was and ever so practical. She would look after her health and in the pre internet days was quite well read about diseases and conditions. She could have long conversations with her doctor in Delhi, Dr. Tara, about diabetes and would calculate the dose of insulin before he calculated it on the calculator. She knew Geography and specially the rivers and the mountains like the veins on the back of her palm. When anyone of us fell ill, she was practical and got about understanding the path to recovery. She was a rock solid personality standing by all of us without seeming to interfere in any of our lives or advising us, suggestions yes, but never any advice or “should dos”.
Its twenty two years since she passed away and yet I feel her presence, when I have to work through the difficulties life throws at me. She whispers to me to be practical, to be brave. She whispers to me to be gentle with myself and to take good care of myself. The connect remains, intact.
Little Drops of Memories 