Love is 'like this only' !!!

 Love is 'like this only' !!! 😅

A few months ago, when I started on a new crochet pattern, in my favorite shades of blues, I had no specific intention or purpose in mind. Athough yarns, needles, and hooks is a any-season joyful engagement for me; crocheting during this pandemic season has been more of a 'breath-in-breath-out' therapeutic 'release' of sorts. The end product has been small amigurumi dolls, stoles, scarves, etc almost all 'taken' by near and dear ones 'virtually', to be claimed when we meet in person post pandemic scare!!

But this blue Throw grew to be special! In my mind and heart, it was meant to keep someone warm 💝 at his new base in a new country!! Without telling him, I continued working at it lovingly. But, it soon, quiet literally, grew HEAVY with emotion!!! Cozy and warm and very pretty....but a bit bulky! I very nearly gave up the possibility of him carrying it given the limited baggage allowance  he had. He'd seen me crochet the Throw everyday, inspecting and appreciating my skill,  and effort. But, you know these Millennials! These Gen Z kidz! What with so many 'super lightweight' warm clothing, thermal options in stores to choose from.....why would he lug this all the way, right? 

In any case, I hesitantly asked if he'd like to take it with him. And he said "Oh wow Ma, sure!! I'd love that!" 

And here it is. Pride of place in his new abode. Uses it everyday, keeping him warm 💝 That said, he still hasn't sent me a pic with it drapped over him!!! These Millennials,  I tell you......🥰

Summer vacations at Viyoor

 Summer vacations were almost always opposite the Viyoor Central Jail in Trissur 😜 And rains were early then....full-on by May. The moss ridden walls, the tee-vandi millipeedes, crotons and jasmines, night long thundering and clapping on the tile roof, power cuts enabling the longing to sleep on the cool black or red oxide shiny floors.....so so many memories. But the most lingering memory is waking up early, on your own wish, to a rain drenched morning, and meandering aimlessly, in my maternal uncles old ancestral home, in a daze through the smoky and deliciously flavored firewood kitchen, to watch the cows being milked in the cow shed, trying out the umikari mixed with salt to brush my teeth instead of Colgate, and reaching the well in the backyard kitchen garden to finish off washing my face and return back to the kitchen, to watch with amazement the dexterity with which the women of the large household managed the  flames and huge vessels, in-between flitting across the adjacent treasure trove of a store room....while I was served steaming hot puttu (poootu in Trissur lingo 😀) with sugar on top  and milk in a steel glass on a bench and desk kind of dinning arrangement inside the kitchen 😍  For a city kid from hot, dry and relatively barren Gujarat, this was magical... Nothing remains now, neither the house or my loving uncle...my ma's only sibling, the hoard of cousins all dispersed. No scanned photographs for instant uploads. In my mother and with her I relive these memories....and of course, in the surviving tropical greens and laterite walls of KeraJoseph PadukadadJoseph Lazer LSijo Johny JAbraham Muringatheryatheryatheryery,

Fabric love 💘

That saree collection of yours 👌👌👌

I love fabric. I don't let go of even an inch of fabric. If it is a garment in good condition which can be  donated or 'handed down' to a needy person, I do that. But otherwise it is recycled or upcycled however which way you like to perceive it. But most Indians do that. Compared to more 'developed' nations, we are far more mindful of how best we can reuse anything. This feeling may not necessarily stem from the feelings or concerns we may have for the environment, or humanity. Instead perhaps, it could well be a way to squeeze the products 'value for money' worth till the last straw or thread. In any case, it is a worthwhile excersise.

Especially cotton fabric. They grow on you. Becomes more and more dear as the fabric grows old and older. And then, very reluctanly, you let go of it.....only in it's use in its original form and purpose. Like a much loved turkey towel, becomes a mop, or a duster, or a foot wipe, etc (away from the glare of  visitors to your home, mostly in the kitchen, store, or bedroom.)

When my eldest niece was to be born, four decades ago, I overheard my Ma and Sister in law discussing 'old cotton mundu'!!! My 12year old mind was busy figuring out the purpose, till I was explained how used, clean, soft, white cotton mundu (used by the men / women of the household) were best to tear apart and made into hand-stitched nappies!!! Or for swaddling the baby, or making bedding for baby, and so many other uses. 

Even now, whenever I foresee the possibility of some excess or leftover/Baki material from the fabric I take to the tailor, I request them to keep it safe for me to take it back with me when I go to collect the stitched garment. Especially jeans fabric, when I take it to alter length. Tailors are often surprised, and then I sheepishly explain why I need those (and not because I'm a miser of sorts, who doesn't even let go of bits of fabric!!!) Appo, Madame taiko? Machine undo?? Some tailors get seriously interested in the possibilities of turning small bits of cloth into pouches, coasters, headbands, dolls, so much more.

And that's where I'm most interested in a saree. This 6 meters of gorgeous fabric (and weaves, the story, the heritage, the history, 😍)....what happens to it finally?? A drape garment that is so beautiful, and elegant. Basically, a very long yardage of beautifully crafted fine fabric that is so versatile that it can be draped in any which traditional or modern way you wish.

We give away some to our less privileged helps, we gift the more expensive ones to dear relatives who value it and is happy to posses it,  some we cut and remake into pavada/blouse for little and young girls in the family, some we make into salwar kameez for ourselves, into curtains, covers, quilts, the possibilities are innumerable.

I'm not a saree wearing person. But for me, every saree seems like a treasure. The last time I wore one was a few months ago, and before that a few years ago!! In this group someone mentioned that she buys at least a100 sarees a year!! And I got thinking of the innumerable possibilities with the fabric yardage 😊

The photo is just one option with fabric, the possibilities are innumerable 😎

Growing up with kids

 We grow with kids around us ❤️ Discover new strengths and abilities while on the job as mom, dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, babysitters or ayahs. Like making up abnormally impossible wild 'neverending' stories, 'formal' story telling and writing, singing, knitting, baking, and what not!

I became an aunt at age 12. Then again, five more times. I began and gradually became a 'professional' at engaging these bunch of nephews and nieces with stories....long, endless 'serial' stories. Some that were so gripping, they actually continued over my visits home from college hostel. A little rewind of the past episode by the eager kids and I was back on track  to add more  🤔

Then when I became a mother, besides memorizing and singing old hindi movie lullabies, my favorite genre of hindi film music btw, I refreshed my collection with memories of Malayalam lullabies sung by mother and older aunts. My son at age 3 could sing "Chanda Hai Tu, Mera Suraj Hai Tu" and "Hush a by baby" and "Aara Ponne Vandile, Kochu Ousepum Kettiyolum" with equal ease and delight.

I also started getting better with 'speed' story telling, which began and ended with my son eating his meal or drinking milk! He would be zapped at how stories lasted exactly the time he took to eat or drink 🙄 And he knew he'd have to wait for another meal time, or milk time, or bed time for the next story. As he grew older (to differentiate between nonsensical and sensible stories) I would indulge him with nice, proper, stories from aesops fables, or the panchatantra, or makeup super abridged versions from mythology or religious texts, or classics, etc.

This was also the time I started writing stories for children. I had a regular column in a newspapers bi-monthly supplement for children. This was also the time I discovered Calvin and Hobbes. My son was six and so was Calvin. As he grew older, children in my stories also grew. Most of the stories were true to life instances and incidents.

I also brushed up on my knitting and crochet skills to make cute, tiny clothings for the little ones in my life. For my son, around the time when microwave ovens were becoming a household must-have, I too bought one and made a sincere attempt to bake. But that attempt was not succefully accomplished. Let's just say, it was a short lived preoccupation 😣 the batter didn't rise beyond a couple of carrot, banana, and date cakes.....which incidentally tasted good. Trust me 😁

My Deccan College 💝

This beautiful photograph brought back memories of the morning I landed in Pune..... a May morning in 1989. And the city became home for the next 18 years!!! First as a student, then a research fellow, and several life phases followed. Coming from a relatively dry and dusty Baroda, Pune's green and blooming welcome filled my heart with love and positivity. The river on the banks of which the city is based, also flowed next to the college (now University), full and cascading over the bund a little further downstream. Everything about the campus was charming,  it's vastness, the Gothic heritage structures, it's history and  legacy, home and hostel to stalwarts, the people.... everything.

A lot has changed in the past 30 years. This historic capital of the Peshwas, which later became famous as   'bicycle city' , 'pensioners paradise' 'cantonment town' etc is now like any other growing city in the country.  The campus is no longer 'far away' away from the city, and with it came road widening, new bridge, over and under, traffic, loss of trees, the old bund was broken, river was reduced to a trickle most of the year..... every visit is a far cry from the Pune that was. But yet, college campuses are different. They are still charming, unchanging, alive with memories of old and new students, teachers, and staff 💝

Pc Pratik Savale , Gulmohar and history preparing to brave the dark clouds of Cyclone Nisarga tonight.  Pune is far away from the coast, and protected by hills on all sides. But yet....

A Sun Sign for you and me 💝

A Sun sign for you and me 💝

I must have been in my 8th grade when I was introduced to Linda Goodman and her 'study' of Sun Sign based astrology  Her book was a personal assesment 'bible'  among teenagers in my all girls convent school during those days (perhaps it still is!!), and all through high school we'd obsess ourselves figuring out the looks, and characteristics of friends, relatives, celebrities, and whoever,  based on Goodman's  'Sun Signs'. It had become a reference book to the extent that even high school sweethearts were chosen and fixed based on the sun sign they were born under, matched with the compatibility indicators prescribed by her book!!! As for me, it gave me great satisfaction, and pride that Goodman's assessment of souls born under the Libra sun sign was perfect and positive 🤣🤣🤣

Having misplaced my copy of the book long ago, couple of months back I online purchased a copy  just to share the innocent joy of reading this book with my teenage daughter. Needless to say she was equally delighted. She may not make it like the 'reference guide' it was for me during highschool, but yet! Anything for those simple joys of nostalgia 🥰

Later as a young student of Archaeology I got even more interested in the concept of the Zodiac which basically originated in ancient Babylonian astrology and was later influenced by Hellenistic culture and beliefs, and how Horoscopic Astrology became popular and spread across the Mediterranean regions and empires, centuries before CE. It was all too interesting. (Of course, the modern day Newspaper version of 'instant' Sun Sign horoscopic astrology 'predictions' was invented in the 1930's or so!! Interesting story that! But nevermind!!) What mattered was that the ancient Sun sign names, symbols, elements they represent, the associated celestial body details, was all too fascinating, and stayed with me even after becoming a professional Archaeologist digging up mounds for ancient  remains. 

So, some twelve years ago, when I chanced upon this beautiful book of 'Mythical' Cross Stitch patterns at a book store, and was leafing through the pages, I was pleasantly surprised to see a charming Sun Sign design to create. I bought the book, and embarked on the project. This was in another country, which had plenty of amazingly well equipped 'treasure trove' all-under-one-roof store for all kinds of craft needs. I was progressing well with the piece, however slow, at my leisure. 

But soon it was time to pack and move! To yet another country, or back homeland. I chose homeland. And the Zodiac cross stitch project, was stalled, packed, and put away. And sadly forgotten 😞 The cargo took a while to reach us. Besides, I got so busy setting up home and settling down, there was no time for some therapeutic crochet or cross stitch or gardening!! (Honestly speaking, exploring the history and heritage of a new city was and is always top priority, hence all the free time, and household-needs shopping-time doubled up as city exploration time 😅) 

All through the last few years, whenever I pick up my crochet hook, or embroidery needle during long weekends or vacations, the entire set of Zodiac constellations rise up in the horizon of my memory and seem to say 'Not fair! We too deserve to see the light of day!! Spare some time for us!! Make us complete!"

So, finally, after all these years, it took a Covid scare and Lockdown 'stranded at home' time, for that much cherished, piece of cross stitch pattern to resurface, and grab my attention. Will I finish it this time round? I don't know. Like a very good engrossing book, a little part of me doesn't want this pattern also to end 😇

Musings on a Mother's Day 2020

Musings on a Mother's Day.

Long long ago,  soon after my first- born was born, a dear friend came visiting to congratulate me and my partner/husband. He gave me a warm hug, looked at my partner and said with a naughty grin, "Congratulations! for the little you contributed" 😂 He literally meant the few 'seeds' my partner deposited in me!! We all had a hearty laugh😂😂  Our friend knew how busy, and how much my partner travelled in his newly acquired job, and how I was almost always on my own managing home, research, pregnancy, etc.) Well, I've always been the one permanently, physically, available for my two kids ever since! And he is responsible for all the financial security, and comforts in our family life! Children are now grown up, although one is still a teenager. This kind of family partnership has worked for us and although married, we continue to be non interfering friends doing our own thing!!

Jokes apart, do men find it difficult to acknowledge the contribution of their wife / partners in mentoring children into adulthood? We all hear of the ever glorified 'nurturing' and 'laying the foundation' ability of Mothers when children are very young. And how it's a mother's duty to instill 'all things good, and right' in their young ones. But does a women's nurturing ability  'decline' after breastfeeding, potty training, instilling values, manners, food, hand holding during elimentary and middle school? How active is a mother's role in mentoring the child, whether son or daughter into adulthood? Or Even later? Or is it taken over by the father? Or is it again a gender thing? Boys by father, girls by mother? Do single moms find it difficult to groom their little boys into young men without the help of a male mentor?

Or is it a generational think? The younger generation of educated couples are far more enlightened. I would like to think they ensure participation in bringing up children. And demand acknowledgement wherever required. According to areas of expertise they share responsibility. Yet, despite being professionals in whichever field of work, is there a gender bias at home? Many of them are perhaps still entrenched in patriarchal norms of the older generation, with fixed assigned role play for mother and father. The 'wordly wise' achievements of their offsprings due to the father, and the nurtured 'golden heart' due to the mother. That's why you have FB comments like 'like father, like son' 'like mother like daughter' (regardless whether the person knows both the parents or their respective credentials !!) It's understandable when we are commenting on physical appearance or attributes, because it's obvious. But not otherwise. Foundation in childhood and mentoring in teenage matters. If you have capable and willing parents, you are just plain lucky. But at the end of the day, instead of holding parents or parenting responsible, an adult is who takes responsibility of his/her own being, failings and/or achievements 💝

Bobby nostalgia

Hi, I'm Bobby! Mujhse dosti karoge? 

If there is a movie I'm nostalgic about, it has to be Bobby. And it has nothing to do with the movie in itself, but everytime I watch or listen to a scene or song from that movie, I'm flooded with memories of times, the moments of that 1973 in my life. It evokes memories of the smells, the colours, the feelings, everything in that 5yr old me. 

Perhaps it's because the radio at homes and streets, public parks, was abuzz with songs from the movie. And to top it, I'm told I watched the movie at least 5 times that vacation season. I don't recall watching any movie twice in the theatre. But apparently the movie was such a hit, that every relative or friend visiting our Baroda home would wish to see the movie and I was taken along (maybe I didn't need a ticket!!). But the imprint the movie left on me was immense. It has filled my senses like no other.

Of course, I love re-watching, over and over, my all time favourites, on different online streaming platforms now. And I watched 'Mera Naam Joker' the other day, a day before Rishi Kapoor passed away,  just to see a boy-Rishi. I must have been 2yrs old when that was released, but I still have abiding memories of one or two images from that movie. And it is not 'imagined' memory from a repeat watch! 

Strange, how certain frames and images open a flood gate of nostalgia. These moments are so overwhelming, that it hits me like a gentle wave, and I stand motionless with eyes closed, to bask and savour the smell, feeling, colors, everything, till the wave tides over me.....I guess we all experience it? What are we, but memories! Good ones, bad ones !!

PS: I'm movie buff. Would have liked to use the word 'cinefilia' (fancy word, that!!) but can't handle watching and savouring more than one movie a day. Sometimes I take several days to 'enjoy' a good movie. Thank God for 365 days in a year!!!

Btw, the doll was in the making for a few days. She was completed/christened today at 5pm 😎 A happy, cheerful, tribute to the kind of public persona Rishi Kapoor was. RIP 💐💝🙏

2.5.20

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 😍

Ma Ma Na Na and others....

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.....)