Childhood hidden in sindoorachepp of Memories
Childhood is a treasure trove of nostalgic memories for everyone, and mine is no different. I was born into a large joint family and was the first child of my dad and mom. Being the eldest among all the children in both my dad’s and mom’s families, I became the apple of everyone's eye. For the first four years of my life, I was the center of attention and pampering in both families. When my dad’s younger brother had a daughter when I was four, the dynamic slightly shifted, but those four years remain special. I had a young aunt and three uncles. On my dad’s side, I had two uncles and another elder uncle who didn’t have children. My favorite person was my aunt, who was then studying in college. We lived in a place called Ulan Kuzhi in Trivandrum. The name "Ulan Kuzhi" (meaning "fox den") originated from the abundance of foxes in the area. Today, the place is known as "Lourdes Junction," and people barely recall its old name. At night, it was common to wake up startled by the sound of chickens squawking in the coop. By the time the family reached the coop, the foxes would have already attacked, often leaving one or two chickens dead. This was a routine occurrence back then, and I used to have nightmares about those foxes. Watching my grandmother wail and clutch her chest in despair was a heartbreaking yet unforgettable sight. My grandmother woke up every morning at 5 a.m. sharp. My uncles, who went to work early, carried packed meals prepared by her. Wrapping the cooked rice in fresh leaves and securing it in newspaper was my responsibility. I would wake up with her and sit on a little wooden plank nearby, basking in the warmth of the firewood stove. The smoke from the firewood often left me teary-eyed, but there was a strange comfort in it. Sometimes, a rat would leap off the chimney, creating a mini commotion. Looking back, those moments now seem amusing. Every morning, my grandmother brewed a huge pot of black coffee. Each family member would come, take a glass, and drink it. Despite being given only milk, I occasionally sneaked sips of that black coffee. My grandmother would roast plantains on the glowing embers, and I would eagerly wait for her to hand me a piece. The taste of those roasted plantains, slightly charred and caramelized, remains unmatched even today. Back then, we also roasted cashew nuts we collected from the yard. My grandmother would apply coconut oil on my lips to prevent burns as I bit into the piping hot cashews. Half-ripe mangoes, cut and eaten with a pinch of chili powder and salt, often left both sides of my lips blistered. Picking up raw cashew nuts, plucking mango leaves, and making traditional "umikkari" (tooth powder) were all part of daily life. My grandmother and my grandfather (whom I lovingly called "Bappu") made umikkari at home. Our house didn’t have concrete walls, just a hedge around it, and we thatched the roof with palm leaves. I even learned how to thatch leaves while sitting with the workers. To this day, I can thatch a palm leaf, and I sometimes joke that I might be the only doctor who knows how to do it! Our mango tree was laden with fruit without any fertilizers or modern techniques. My uncles climbed up and tossed down raw mangoes, which I diligently caught using a bed sheet to prevent them from bruising. Losing even a single mango was unthinkable back then. Since there was no TV or computers, our primary entertainment was in the yard. Morning runs to collect ripe mangoes that had fallen overnight were the highlight. Eating those fresh, dripping mangoes in the open air was pure bliss. Back then, burgers, sausages, and fried rice were unheard of. The only "special" food I knew was a cutlet from the Indian Coffee House at Shangumugham Beach. Sunday evenings were reserved for beach outings and a cutlet treat. Bakery items were limited to "dilkush" (coconut buns) and sponge cake wrapped in wax paper. Britannia’s Animal Kingdom biscuits were a popular snack. I loved scooping Amul milk powder straight from the tin—something I still find irresistible today. Drinking water was drawn from a well using a pulley system, which I used to enjoy doing secretly. Pouring the water over the cement platform in the backyard was my mischief. Bathing was a ritual, with water drawn from a small tank in the bathroom. The fragrance of Life Buoy soap after a bath lingered in the entire house. Similarly, the scent of "Cinthol" soap and talcum powder holds a special place in my heart. Doing laundry involved washing clothes on a stone slab with a 501 bar soap. The last tiny piece of the soap was rubbed onto the stone to ensure nothing was wasted. The simplicity of those days and the joy in such small activities are things today's generation may never truly understand.
