Educating Anandam
I remember that day. I had planned to go to the house behind ours , where two of the aychees (sisters) of my choice lived. Madhavi with never-ending patience for me, and Naani, the opposite. Nani would flip if I ran around her kitchen -- the pots were on three-stone fires, with dry coconut fronds for firewood. I also had a reputation (well-justified) for snatching handfuls of grated coconut off the grinding stone, where it was sitting ready for the daily fish curry.
In my home there was no compound to run around in. Next door was surrounded by generous tracts of land whichever way you looked. I like the south side best, which had multiple attractions for a girl of eight years. The huge Tamarind tree whispered in the breeze and tempted me to talk to it and dwell under its huge shade. I could pick the wind-falls and nibble at the sharp tangy fruit. Madhavi was always warning me how there would be blood in my poo if I ate tamarind, but it was too tasty to reject.
The land furthest from the house was terraced towards the end, where there was a fence, on which wild, pink, Yeshoda flowers grew plentifully. The flowers had long stems such that I could make garlands by plaiting the stems. Then there was the forbidden treat of looking through the vines at the plot next door.
A family of Parayas ( untouchables, so called, then) lived there. It was a clan rather than a family; at least thirty people who lived in bamboo-and-thatch lean-tos. During the day the women were always cooking huge clay-pots of food, and the men quietly congregating in shady ground, drinking toddy. At night,the drumming would start and we could hear singing and celebration, when the traffic noises on our road had died down. In the late forties the land was acquired by a lawyer, who built a beautiful house there Where did the Parayas go? The next empty plot of land probably. I like to think that, with Independence, they prospered, the children went to schools...
As an only child, I had to create my own entertainment -- did that lead me in the direction of undue dependence on the written word? An uncle taught me Patience, a card game which I could play on my own with a pack of dog-eared playing cards discarded by my father and his '28' crew. There was also the tiny green pods shed by the Arecanut tree, which I collected to play chottu kali, flicking one on to another with forefinger and thumb.
But, on that day, Achan found me early, just after I had eaten my dosha and sammandi. He was going to teach me public speaking. He would give me a topic and I had to prepare a three-minute speech on the subject. To be delivered on the long walkway in front of our house. Part of my education!
The people wandering past our house would stop and stare at us, while my father threw useful suggestions at me. Slow down, throw your voice etc. The children from the houses on the left and right of our home would line up and gawp. There was no escape. This was all part of my 'education according to Achan.'
GOT IN THE WAY OF MY GAMES and FORAYS NEXT DOOR.
