Scenes from the festival grounds
Isn’t it so amusing to reminisce about childhood days? When I was a child, I used to spend hours lying on a mat on the terrace, waiting to spot a comet. There was a belief that if you made a wish upon seeing a comet, it would come true. Back then, without computers, video games, or TV, staring at the sky never felt boring. It was so easy to trick me when I was a kid. Even today, not much has changed in that regard. They would tell me the same story over and over—that I was found floating in a sack in a stream during the monsoon and was brought home. Hearing that would make me terribly sad, and I’d cry my heart out alone. It was an age where I believed everything they said. But if I were to tell my children such a story today, not only would they refuse to believe it, but they would also counter it with witty responses. Times have changed, indeed! The same goes for running to collect items supposedly dropped from planes. Back then, the story was that my dad, who was in the UK, would drop clothes from the plane for us to collect. The enthusiasm with which we ran to gather them! As a child living in Trivandrum, I had none of the awareness or "wisdom" that children seem to possess today. When circuses or new plays came to town, announcements were made either by dropping leaflets from helicopters or throwing them from jeeps. Collecting those leaflets was an event in itself. I would carefully collect and stack them in my books. The same went for colorful candy wrappers and the aluminum paper inside cigarette packs—carefully stored for no specific reason, just for the sheer joy of it. Being part of a joint family meant there was no shortage of mischief. My grandfather's friends, like Chella Appooppan and Raghavan Pillai Appooppan, would bring peanut candy for me, and I waited eagerly for that treat. During Onam, the massive swing at Chella Appooppan’s house, which could hold five people, was the highlight. Swinging on that swing with his children was such fun. Ambi Chettan and Ani Chettan were the ones who would push the swing high up into the mango trees. We called it "kottayiduka" (giving a big push). A life so intertwined with nature—a life today’s generation will never know. I also fondly remember starting dance lessons at the age of three. My first guru was Mohan Chandran Mash, the father of the second heroine in the movie Joker. On the third day of lessons, when he scolded me, I wet myself out of anger. Even now, I laugh when I think of it. My stage debut at the age of five, performing Kaliya Mardanam at the Valiya Mahadeveswaram temple, remains unforgettable. When I danced so well, many mothers and elder brothers rushed to hug and kiss me, and I generously returned the kisses. Unlike today, we didn’t have to worry about things like corona back then. I performed at many events and temple festivals, often taking the stage at 2 or 3 in the morning. Hours before our turn, we would be dressed and ready, lying on mats behind the stage, fighting off sleep. The only thing we were allowed to eat was small pieces of bananas, as eating anything else would ruin the lipstick. Chewing and swallowing those small pieces was enough. Sleeping on mats amidst dancers and actors is an experience that is hard to imagine today. Back then, there was no fear of harm or abuse like there is now. Many places that once felt safe no longer are. The innocence of seeing children as just children, without the bias of gender, seems to have faded. Even now, memories of the festival grounds are vivid in my mind. I’ve bought plenty of toys like windmills, whistles made from palm leaves, balloons, and little plastic watches that never worked but made me feel so stylish. Who would wear those watches now? Today’s kids wouldn’t settle for anything less than branded watches.
