Don't call me Aunty, na !

"🤓 Very strange attitude of parents (especially Mother's), where their own grown up sons and daughters in their 20's and 30's are 'kids', and insist these 'kids' address other individuals of the same age or slightly older as 'aunties' and 'uncles' !!!"

The above sentences was my response to a FB post of a young friend in her 30's, a mother of two little kids, where she narrates how a neighbour 18-20 years older than her 'corrects' her when addressed as 'Aunty' and insists on 'Akka' instead. Which is perfectly fine. Accepted. Cool.

But the same neighbour insists her 18+ year old daughter to address the young mother of two little ones as 'Aunty'. Very strange!!

I became an 'aunt' to a dear little niece at 12. So it doesn't bother me. But definitely find it strange when daughter's (and son's) of women whom I fondly call 'Chechi' (although they are old enough to be my mother!!) insist their own daughters (just a decade or so younger than me) address me as 'Aunty'!! Needless to say it's outright shocking when husband's of these daughters also address us as Aunty!!🤔🙄🥴

In fact, when I landed in Kerala 10 years ago,  I was also reprimanded, albeit very sweetly, 'Please don't call me Aunty. Call me Chechi' by a lady 20 years older than me. Perfectly fine. It's wonderful when people are open about their feelings about how they would like to be addressed. But somehow I didn't have the heart to say 'Mujhe Aunty mat kaho' (in that Kareena filmy style!!) to that lady's daughter and son-in-law just a few years younger than me! In fact, I could sense the couple cringe each time they would address me thus! Perhaps 'forced' to!

Just saying.These things hardly matter! Really. But find it strange, especially when in our Indian languages there are so many respectful ways to address persons older than us by a few years and a few decades!  For instance, Chechi, Akka, Didi, Behen, Athya, Vahini, etc. Or Amma, Maushi, Ajji, etc for older people. And of course the ubiquitous 'Aunty'.

Or just stay clear of all the above confusion. Call every individual by name. Or make it sound formal by a Ms, Mrs, Madam, Mr , Sir.... Best!

My ancestors homes

Fed on stories by Ma, of her first impression of the imposing ancestral house into which she came as a young wife,  I was always intrigued by the #Tharakan #Tharavadu structure located by the  #Koonamoochi Junction, on the #Choondal - #Guruvayoor highway. Growing up in a city like Baroda it was difficult to imagine such a large 'house' for one family. But again, for a child in the city, family is so 'nuclear' and so selfishly 'me and mine'! Space in a city home is limited and conceivable uses of those spaces are also limited. And here was this building towering over all the single level structures at the junction and beyond, with innumerable rooms called variously, according to quaint functionality, which was alien to me. It was a maze, that sometimes frightened me. In fact, other than the #adukala or the kitchen, and the #thinna or the large hall at the entrance, I was not familiar with the various names for the rooms (as a child). And honestly, there was no room demarcated as a 'bedroom'!! It seemed as if the structure was in controll and the members living in it were in temporary residence and were allowed to 'fit' in their cots and #pullpaaya' mats and call it their bedroom while they lived!! In fact, there was no privacy!!

And that's when Ma told me that the corner room on the first floor was reserved for the newly weds!! For as long as the next in line wedded couple in the family had that privilege!! I have shared long ago on my blog, my Ma's own fears as a young bride, of climbing those steep wooden staircase, with no electricity, creaking wooden rafters, and a balcony open to the street!! So much for privacy!! Having grown up with just her parents and a brother, she was more than happy to leave the 'crowded' Tharavadu with her husband, soon after marriage, to yet another unfamiliar terrain, and the experiences therein.....

Unfortunately, this lovely 125+ year old structure and large property  (in which my father had no legal claim or rather, relinquished all claims) was sold and  demolished a few years ago. And when I try to remember and scribble down all those memories shared by Ma over the years, this imposing structure comes alive, and I pick the threads from my own memory of weekend stays in the Tharavadu with my father's elder brother / Veliappan and family during Summer vacations at my Ma's house in Viyoor, Trissur.

Sadly I don't have good photographs either. Of the layout of one room leading to another till the deep end of the structure to its backyard, of the scary deep 'well within a well' by the kitchen, of the view from the low roofed third floor, or the large community well which was dug just outside the house soon after independence. Both the wells still exists....

My first brush with Malayalam magazines....

The very first Malayalam magazine that reached Baroda home by post was the 'Manorama'.  I remember my mother waiting eagerly to rip open the seal lapel with the postal address on the folded black and white magazine, soon after serving and clearing kitchen post lunch, and indulge in the 1st leafing, before her afternoon siesta. This 1st leafing involved reading aloud for me the Boban and Molly cartoon strip on the last page. Many a afternoons I remember,  snuggled on my mother's lap listening to comments by Hippie,  President, Motta, and the rest. Of course, most of the sarcasm,  wit, politics, and all, was lost on me. Nevertheless,  I enjoyed listening to Ma read aloud and watch her laugh.

In fact, it was my inability to read Bobanum Mollyum on my own that prompted me to learn to at least read Malayalam.  Needless to say, my mother was most delighted at the prospects of tutoring me and encouraged me as I progressed with the Balapatham Book 1. Even today, the imagery that pops up in my mind, when I manage to read Malayalam is that of 'pa for pana', 'ta for tavala', 'gha for ghadhigaram', and the rest.

In the next few days, Ma would have several leafings, and devour every page in the magazine. She would read the several 'to be continued' story series, which sometimes overwhelmed her too much and made her read it aloud with me around. My teenaged sister completely disapproved Ma reading aloud such 'disgusting romances' to a kid!! Not that I understood much of what was going on, but I gave a patient listening to my mom's mumbling and was happy to see the involvement and speed with which she read.

Along with MM came another boring church newsletter called the Satyadeepam, with no cartoons or illustrations. I couldn't care less for what I called the 'newspaper' from church.  But this newsletter was seriously revered in my house. The series was kept neatly stacked beside the daily home prayer books, and sometimes under mattresses, along with the Holy fronds of the Hosanna palm leaves.

Then came another magazine named NaNa, which my father totally disapproved of, not just buying,  but even leafing through the few odd copies that would find its way into our house from the hands of visiting male cousins from Kerala,  who'd buy these for easy read before boarding the Jayanti Janata to Bombay - Baroda. This was also the time when small tapri or hand cart 'Kerala Store's started to make an appearance in Baroda,  perhaps taking a cue from more established Kerala stores in Bombay.  And while accompanying dad on his Vespa to these hand cart mini Kerala to buy the much coveted few Kerala goodies like Nentra pazham, koorka,  kolli / kappa, muthira, etc (this was over and above the truck load of cartons with Kerala goodies, including avalose podi, puttu podi, kozhalappam,  chakka,  pineapple, etc that was lugged on the Jayanti Janata over every school vacation to Trissur!) NaNa was also a 'gift' from Kerala

While dad checked out the 'items' in the mini Kerala stall, my eyes would wander to the colourful NaNa magazines festooned around the tiny hand cart with clothespins. I would curiously look at the eye-catching magazine cover with photos of voluptuous ladies and muscled men in goggles. My father would give me 'the look' if he caught me staring at these magazine covers. Likewise, the image that pops up in my mind for the Malayalam letter 'Na' is the bright red logo of NaNa magazine.

Then in 1980, while I was still a kid, my eldest sister in law, entered our home armed with a copy of a very "elegant, smart, and cultured" magazine called the Vanitha, another offspring from the 'respectable' MM family......... (to be continued.....)

Happy birthday Jane Goodall 💝

Happy Birthday Jane Goodall 💝

I was in the 8th std when I first read (or heard!) of Jane Goodall and her work with the Chimpanzees in Africa in a National Geographic magazine. It all sounded so exciting! It was around the time that I had woken up to 'environmental issues' and had freshly heard of the  'reduce, reuse, recycle’ mantra and the word 'sustainable' was added to my dictionary. Jane Goodall (Primatologist was another new word in my dictionary!) and her Foundation's work in the African jungles fascinated me and fired me up completely.

One fine morning, I drafted out a nice handwritten letter to 'Dear Ms Goodall' requesting her to take me on board as an assistant during my two month long school summer vacation break ☺️ I said I love animals and jungles 😅 I even drew a small A4 size poster on the RRR theme. Put everything in an envelope, neatly wrote out the c/o Foundation address, borrowed money for stamps from Ma and posted the letter. I awaited a reply for a few weeks. You see, Africa is huge, and a far away continent, things take time! I waited. I dreamt of a summer vacation in Africa with Ms Goodall and the  Chimpanzees. But nothing happened 😑

Then one day I got a reply. A fat envelope. With papers about the Foundation and their different programmes, including 'How to Volunteer', and of course, an envelope for donation! All very impersonal.  And what I had wanted, a personal reply from Ms Goodall, saying Hello Bina , thank you, lovely poster, come to Africa, etc was not there 😔

Very soon I made my peace wiith the impossibility of a summer vacation in the African jungles with chimpanzees. However, that initial motivational spark led me on......the followings years I got more involved with environment, animals, and plants, and realised how little I knew (or know even now!) of this bountiful earth, it's flora, and fauna. For several years in the 1980's I would read up any news snippet, article, on Ms Goodall and her Foundation. Even now whenever I read or hear about her and her work my heart cheers up. And that dream of a 13 year old smiles in me 😍