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.....)

Ma's 85th

Today is Ma's 85th birthday.  Married at 21, she made Gujarat her new home state, but always looked forward to Diwali and summer vacations at her paternal home in Trissur District. And she was (and still is, if prodded) full of stories of her growing up years, of people, surroundings, and experiences of her 'Naadu' that seemed ancient and nostalgic.  Being the youngest of her children I was always around her, while she read, while she was crocheting, or gardening. In the process, all of those habits and hobbies percolated into me. Especially so after Pa left us 32 years ago, and she had all the time to devote to herself, in-between spending time with grandchildren at home. Now she is a great grandmother to a big bunch of little ones, has not picked up a crochet hook in years, barely reads, and just about manages to spend time with her plants. It's been years since she traveled to Trissur or anywhere out of Baroda. But she is truly blessed that she has her 2 sons and loving daughters in law living with her and attending to her every need. 

On Mothers Day, 2019.

Marriage was never on my mind all through my growing up years (till I met someone worth it in my 20's! ). But I always wanted to be a mother. And I'm talking of times, long before Karan Johar had babies of his own. Even long before Sushmita Sen became the first celebrity single-woman to adopt a child legally. And even before Neena Gupta shook the nation by going public about her decision to keep her baby and go on to famously become the first  'unwed' mother ( I remember looking up the exact definition of the word 'illegitimate' in the dictionary) .....

I don't recollect having fanciful ideas of 'happily ever after' fairytale endings or dreamy fantasies of my wedding dress and day. Being the youngest of the siblings, the family had seen enough weddings and were in no hurry to get me 'married off'. Besides I was good in studies, and so they let me be engaged with my so called  'academic pursuits'. 

Even as a little girl I remember being amazed at the idea of carrying a baby within me, in my belly. I used to and still do love dolls and would cradle, feed, bath, and dress them. I learnt the basics of stitching by making dresses for my dolls. Even now, whenever I see an adorable doll, I spare a moment to admire it. In my car, even today, there are one or two small dolls, supposedly my daughters when she was small not too long ago. 

It was in my 8th std school vacation that I started on my periods. Back then 13 year olds were not well informed about the 'facts of life'. Especially in a  conservative family upbringing where fathers were unapproachable and mothers restrained. Since I was one of the last ones in class to start on my periods, I had some idea about it from my classmates and older neighbourhood friends, and was prepared. To me it was just another bodily function which starts at a certain age in girls. Like sprouting hair. No big deal. I'd manage on my own, I thought. I was cool about it. And quiet about it. Until Ma found out on the second day. She thought I was perhaps embarrassed and scared. I remember that day, time, and scene so well. Ma requested to let her into the bathroom to help me clean up. I reluctantly agreed. I was too conscious and confused to pay attention to all the things she was explaining, cautioning, comforting. But what pricked up my ears, were her words 'this prepares you to bear a child and be a mother'. It was a shocking revelation for me. As if something miraculous just happened to my body. And mind. Everything changed...... 

To be continued...... 

Growing up with kids around

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 😁

Amma @ 83

Today is Amma’s birthday. She completes 83 years. She is mother to 5, grandmother to 9, and great grandmother to 9 little ones so far, and still counting. She and another older aunt of mine (both daughters-in-law of the Tharakan household) are the two surviving members of an entire generation from both, paternal and maternal side.

I’m most certain that my keen interest in history was kindled by the stories my ma narrated to me; her moments of fond reminiscence. She was a much loved youngest child of parents who came from an agrarian background, but who were quick to respond to a recruitment call from the `British Sarkar’ in the early 1930’s  and enrolled as male and female jail wardens at the Viyoor Central Jail (established in 1914) not too far away from Kolazhi in Trissur district, Kerala. Ma’s father bought land a little away from the entrance arch of the jail and ma was born into the lovely mud and laterite house he built there.  Stories of her close association with the jail, the officers and staff, stories of inmates in there, all fascinated me. Ma studied at the Montessori school inside the jail premises, where ‘madamas’ took lessons for the little ones and taught crafts like embroidery and crochet to older girls and women. Even after ma joined the government school, she would catch up with the teachers and staff when running errands for her parents during their office shifts or delivering tiffin.

Ma wanted to be a school teacher. But as destiny would have it, she was carted off to a small village in Sabarkantha district in Gujarat of the 1950’s, with a rather reluctant 22 year old husband, who himself wasn’t quite ready to be the householder! Ma could barely manage a couple of words in Hindi with the locals, mostly men and women from the Bhil and Garasia community, who spoke a very different dialect of Gujarati. They were a big help. They fetched water from the river, got fresh vegetables, and stood her guard till father returned from work.  Ma was still learning to roll out soft rotis and make dal/sabzis that go with it, the kind my father liked.  While appa had long since acquired a taste and preference for such a diet, ma longed for her red rice, and coconut in every curry! She, most sorely, missed the well-water back home, for her thick, long hair. There wasn’t much to do at the small rented home. She would spend her time doing needle work and humming hindi songs of the late 50’s from the radio “Aayein hai door se, milne huzoor se, aise mein chup na raheiye” and “Sar par topi lal, hath mein resham ka rumaal….O tera kya kehna” and older hits like “Chup chup khade ho, jaroor koi baat hai”. Not that she figured what those filmi lines meant!

Four kids were born in quick succession. A short break, and then I was born. Like an afterthought! Ma had long since abandoned any hopes of becoming a teacher. She was and is a homemaker. She is the rock, the pivot, the grace of our large family. Never interfering, never imposing. I would like to believe I’m the most loved among her five children. And she still loves to share with me stories from her childhood in Viyoor, her years in the different small towns in Gujarat while my father worked with Gujarat State Transport, relocating to our house in  Viyoor with the older kids, and finally rejoining appa and settling down in Baroda when father set up his own business.

I always wanted to take my ma on a visit to the first town, far away from her native place, that she made her home. Perhaps search out the location of the house, which was close to the fort walls, not too far from the river bank, etc. But I never managed such a trip. Despite my frequent and detailed exploration of Gujarat during by research years. And now she is not at all confident about making long journeys. She barely manages to walk around in the home garden. Couple of years ago, when I was on a field trip in Gujarat, I drove through Sabarkantha, and realized that a new district has been carved out.  Appa’s ST bus depot, where he worked, is now crowded and modern, far removed from the b/w photographs of the remote work station it once was.  There’s no way of making out people from different communities from their attire or language. No Radio Ceylon or Binaca geet mala. The river has long since gone dry. The fort wall is crumbling.  Memories are slowly fading for ma too.

Every year is a blessing. A gift from god. Here’s wishing Ma a fulfilling new year. Happy birthday, Amma. 

A young 18 year old ma, with her mother and brother, posing at a studio. Grandma was a strong and strict Jail (female) Warden since early 1930's . Her son Mathew (Maatu) was the eldest, and daughter Mary (Rosa) the youngest, from among the few children she lost in between. The brother and sister had an age difference of 18 years. This photo was taken with the sole purpose of  'presenting' ma for prospective marriage alliances  

One for the album. Appa Amma's wedding photo. Appa, 22, Amma 21. She still has her wedding saree.