SUITE 1984 READING CLUB

Reminiscences From My Early Childhood

Sometimes all it takes is one photo to trigger a whole series

These days, I find it amusing that I can recall so much from when I was a five-year-old and yet, manage to forget something that happened a couple of weeks ago. I blame the digital age, the internet.

I am in the process of hurriedly clearing up my son’s room where I dumped a lot of stuff in the name of decluttering. Going through the stuff brought an avalanche of memories.

All it took was this tattered book — my Carnatic music notes and some hastily scribbled lyrics to some songs we enjoyed back in the day.

Sometime in the late 60s, in Mumbai, in the house that grandpa built.

We occupied the second floor. The first floor and ground floor had tenants — some were family, and some were distant relatives.

I was five when my folks “enrolled” me in the Carnatic vocal music class. This basically meant my grandma telling (yes, telling) Sita mami (aunty), who lived on the ground floor, to teach me.

I remember Sita mami as a beautiful woman— fair-skinned, diamonds dazzling at her ears and nose, typical Tambrahm* style. She was small-made and wore the traditional nine-yard saree. I loved to go to her house.

I would slink down the stairs from the second floor to their house, hoping I wouldn’t encounter my nemesis, Kannan, the little boy who loved to tease me. And bite me. Or pinch me.

Waylaid!

On my fifth birthday, I remember wearing a blue frock, a blue satin hairband, and blue slip-on shoes. I also had a blue handkerchief pinned under my collar. He waylaid me en route to Sita mami’s house and pinched me. As I tried to control the tears that threatened to fall, he laughed and asked, since everything I had on was blue, would I, by any chance, fart in blue?

Well, the damn broke and I ran as fast as I could to Sita mama’s house, but not fast enough because he grabbed my arm and bit me. Of course, there was parental intervention later. Not that Kannan could care less. When I think of him now, I can only laugh — he was just an incorrigible little boy!

The good friend

On the other hand, his neighbor, Laxman, also a 5-year-old, was a sweetheart. Chubby, chocolate-skinned, and the epitome of generosity. It always freaked me out how he got money from his mom and went to the shop on the corner of our street all by himself and bought a fizzy drink and potato chips or chocolate. He was more than ready to share with everyone.

He would often come home and we would sit together and whisper under the makeshift tent my mom built for me — which was basically a large bedsheet spread across the tops of two chairs placed apart. And he would assure me that when we were older, he would take me to college on the scooter just like Kanna mama who lived on the ground floor. We were ambitious, weren’t we?

Is it weird that when I close my eyes I can still remember how he smelled? I wonder what he’s doing now.

Eh. What’s with these stray memories hopping onto my train of thought?

Fascinating routines

Anyway — I loved going to Sita mama’s house. I was fascinated by the way they did things. I enjoyed watching her go about her evening routine, as she sang and I repeated after her, keeping the beat (taal) with my palm on my thigh, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from the door.

She would move around the kitchen, prepping for and cooking dinner — I was intrigued by the firewood stove, as we didn’t use that at home. I was also very interested in what she was making as my nose enjoyed all the yummy aromas.

Without missing a beat, she would call out to her 16-year-old daughter Girija, to bring in the fluttering dry clothes from the balcony, scold her 15-year-old son, and smile at me from time to time to encourage me to keep singing.

Girija would then fold some of the clothes and put aside some to press. Not with the traditional iron box, though. She would boil water in a large utensil on a kerosene stove in a corner of the kitchen. I was so excited when she taught me how to turn the stove off. Then she told me not to tell my grandma because she would have a fit if she knew I was anywhere near a stove.

I would watch Girija, fascinated, singing “sarali varisai”,** the basics of Carnatic vocal music, as she got ready to iron the clothes. She would arrange a large plank and spread a folded saree on it. Take the first garment, sprinkle a little water on it, scrunch it up, and place it near the plank.

After doing this with all the clothes to be ironed, she would fill a bowl with a flat base with some of the water she had boiled, hold it with tongs, smooth the garment to be ironed over the plank, and run the hot base of the bowl over the cloth. When she folded the garment neatly and set it aside, I thought it was magical.

Into each life, some rain must fall

Her brother would come in and playfully annoy everyone while I watched him, admiringly at first — he seemed so tall! But then, every adult looks tall to a 5yo. Then Sita mami would bring my attention back to the singing simply by changing her tone as she sang.

My admiration for her son waned quickly. One day, he was sitting at his table and writing something. When I passed by, smiling shyly, he turned his chair towards me, said something nice and grabbed me, and sat me on his lap. Then he gently moved back and forth on his chair. I had not received the “good-touch-bad-touch” talk yet from my folks, but I still knew this was wrong. I never smiled at him again. And he had the grace to ignore me, too. Probably scared of my grandma.

Back home from music class

My music class was from 5 to 6 p.m and exactly at 6 p.m, Sita mami would chase me off home. Most days, I successfully reached our door without meeting anyone on the way. I loved it when my grandma called out to me from the swing in our living room. She would welcome me as if I had returned from a long trip. Every single day. I still remember the mixed fragrance of incense and food mingling with conversations and songs on the radio.

Soon it would be time for dinner, but not before I spent some time with my mom, a school teacher in training, who would be busy grading stuff. She and I went to the same school — I mean, she studied in the same school as I did. Then later, when I started school, she joined as a teacher. Her fourth-grade teacher was also mine.

Dinner time

I loved it when my mom looked up and smiled at me, and extending one arm, drew me close to her. I would feel so important when I took her empty coffee tumbler back to the kitchen and washed it.

Most days, I helped my aunt “lay the table” which was a euphemism for arranging the steel dinner plates on the floor with a glass of water next to each plate. Then we would all sit down to eat while my aunt served us the first round and then joined us.

Mom

After dinner, I would sit with my mom quietly while she studied — she had exams to give after she got her cup of peace. I would pretend to read with her. Sometimes I would draw on the red floor with chalk. She would often smooth my hair back then ruffle it and hug me tight. I loved it.

She once gathered my shoulder-length hair and tied it at the tip, folded it in, and showed me the mirror. I cried my head off thinking she had cut my hair. I had long hair goals at the time and loved to place a towel on my head, with the ends trailing down on my shoulder. I would twist the towel and pretend they were long plaits and jump to look at the mirror that was just a little higher than I could reach. Later, I realized my mom and grandma would hide behind the door watching, trying hard not to laugh.

Memory Lane, Nostalgia Street is mostly beautiful. I am glad I have more good memories than bad.

Thank you for reading. ❤

• Tambrahms are Tamil Brahmins usually from Tamil Nadu South India. Traditionally, the women wore diamond earrings and nose studs and draped nine-yard sarees). We still wear diamonds, but have a broader range of apparel now.
• **Sarali Vairsay — these are the fundamental sequences that enable the student to get a feel of melody with rhythm.

Vidya Sury, Collecting Smiles ❤ Did you smile today?

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