First things first. Here, by west, I mean the western side of my village. In the old days when I was a kid, the west was just rivers, canals and rice fields. My Grandpa lived there. So, I used to visit his place when I had time. It was fun there. I get tender coconuts every time I visit. Plenty of mangoes when it is in season. Can fish, play in the water, get a country boat ride now and then through the river etc etc.
I walk a short distance on the main road, then another quarter of a km on a dirt road. Which ends at the river. Here, on sunny days you see women washing clothes. There is a bridge, which in the old days was essentially 2 planks, each a foot wide, joined somehow together, side by side. You climb the steps and step on the bridge and the adventure begins. As you get to the middle of it, the up down motion starts getting very noticeable. Once you cross the bridge, you get to the 'west'. No vehicles beyond this point. You walk on a ridge, that is a kind of barrier that separate the river from the rice fields. Uneven surface here. If you are lucky it won't be very slippery. You walk on the ridge, which is about 4 foot wide, for another 200 meters and get to a place where you can let your breath out and walk without fear of immediately falling in to the river or the lake on the left. ( Lake, because the rice fields around this place are mostly not cultivated usually. So it will be filled with water. Generally water lilies and such vegetation floating around.) This is somebody's property but people are allowed to walk through,because, if someone were to block the path, then no one will be able to move around those places. You soon come to a small stream or canal. The bridge here is a concrete beam with a rectangular cross section. about one food wide. Only a small distance to cross and it doesn't oscillate. Now I stand in my grandpa's property.
Most houses in the west typically stand on land raised from low laying areas. So when it is monsoon season, most houses will briefly have 'running water' facility through them. When it is real bad, people move in with their relatives on higher land. It becomes practically impossible to walk on the ridge then. Water will be flowing over it in a strong current and you would have no idea where the river or the lake began.
They live in the middle of water but they have to bring their drinking water from some distance away. Because if they dig a well, they get salty water around those places. There are more houses towards the west and worse canals and bridges. Some of the canals will have just a coconut tree trunk for a bridge. Usual to have a slight rolling motion towards either side, in addition to the up/down motion. Someone who is not used to these places would gladly throw in the towel at this point. Yet, you would see women walking those tree trunk bridges with a pot of water on their head and another pot in their hand. If you were contemplating crawling across, they could even take your hand and walk you across without any problem. If you are a kid being helped across thus, having a one track mind helps. You just concentrate on not thinking about the abyss below till you are across.
You would think these ladies of the West could whistle a merry tune while balancing a pot of water on their head, another on their hip while helping a kid across by the hand. But this was not so. Surprisingly, these brave ladies could never whistle.
My step Granny never even sang. At best, she recited some verses while she prayed at home or in Church which was mostly in subdued tones. All the years I have known her, she looked essentially the same. Always the proper dress for women of Christians our side, old fashioned. This traditional dress always fascinated me as a kid. ('Chattayum Mundum'. The white Mundu is wore such that it will have a fan shaped tail. The tail is what makes it look funny in the eyes of kids) My aunt could sing one or two lines of popular songs but the less we talk about that, the better. But there was one thing remarkable about her. She had, and still has, a hearty laugh for the occasions when she found something very funny. Many years later, this laugh would be used by diesel auto-rickshaw manufacturers for the start up sound of their autos, when they release them in the Indian market.
My Granpa I always thought was an ordinary old man. He read his paper, smoked his beedi, went about his farming etc. But he was a very wise man. I divined this by chance.Once I was there, me and Granpa were trying to read the newspapers. Women were chatting loudly with the neighbors who dropped in for gossip. Those days people had lots of time, see. This loud chatting was getting on the nerves of us, the Men. They stopped only to draw breath or to shout a curse at an errant hen that came too close to the house or to scream at the neighbor's kid that went too near the river. I sense my Granpa getting exasperated with his reading. He lower the paper and mutter through clenched teeth,
'Vekili!!'
Now that is a slang term to describe unruliness in general. I liked him saying this. Shows him in a new light.
Years pass. Granpa is no more. I am unmarried and so theoretically should be having an orderly life. But there are times when one encounter this scene again in life. Typical family with women and kids raising a racket (sounds of domestic life) and the men of the home pulling out their hairs in exasperation. I tip my imaginary hat to the old man, remembering with awe the time he said that one word in my presence.
'Vekili!!'
He was indeed a wise old man.
I walk a short distance on the main road, then another quarter of a km on a dirt road. Which ends at the river. Here, on sunny days you see women washing clothes. There is a bridge, which in the old days was essentially 2 planks, each a foot wide, joined somehow together, side by side. You climb the steps and step on the bridge and the adventure begins. As you get to the middle of it, the up down motion starts getting very noticeable. Once you cross the bridge, you get to the 'west'. No vehicles beyond this point. You walk on a ridge, that is a kind of barrier that separate the river from the rice fields. Uneven surface here. If you are lucky it won't be very slippery. You walk on the ridge, which is about 4 foot wide, for another 200 meters and get to a place where you can let your breath out and walk without fear of immediately falling in to the river or the lake on the left. ( Lake, because the rice fields around this place are mostly not cultivated usually. So it will be filled with water. Generally water lilies and such vegetation floating around.) This is somebody's property but people are allowed to walk through,because, if someone were to block the path, then no one will be able to move around those places. You soon come to a small stream or canal. The bridge here is a concrete beam with a rectangular cross section. about one food wide. Only a small distance to cross and it doesn't oscillate. Now I stand in my grandpa's property.
Most houses in the west typically stand on land raised from low laying areas. So when it is monsoon season, most houses will briefly have 'running water' facility through them. When it is real bad, people move in with their relatives on higher land. It becomes practically impossible to walk on the ridge then. Water will be flowing over it in a strong current and you would have no idea where the river or the lake began.
They live in the middle of water but they have to bring their drinking water from some distance away. Because if they dig a well, they get salty water around those places. There are more houses towards the west and worse canals and bridges. Some of the canals will have just a coconut tree trunk for a bridge. Usual to have a slight rolling motion towards either side, in addition to the up/down motion. Someone who is not used to these places would gladly throw in the towel at this point. Yet, you would see women walking those tree trunk bridges with a pot of water on their head and another pot in their hand. If you were contemplating crawling across, they could even take your hand and walk you across without any problem. If you are a kid being helped across thus, having a one track mind helps. You just concentrate on not thinking about the abyss below till you are across.
You would think these ladies of the West could whistle a merry tune while balancing a pot of water on their head, another on their hip while helping a kid across by the hand. But this was not so. Surprisingly, these brave ladies could never whistle.
My step Granny never even sang. At best, she recited some verses while she prayed at home or in Church which was mostly in subdued tones. All the years I have known her, she looked essentially the same. Always the proper dress for women of Christians our side, old fashioned. This traditional dress always fascinated me as a kid. ('Chattayum Mundum'. The white Mundu is wore such that it will have a fan shaped tail. The tail is what makes it look funny in the eyes of kids) My aunt could sing one or two lines of popular songs but the less we talk about that, the better. But there was one thing remarkable about her. She had, and still has, a hearty laugh for the occasions when she found something very funny. Many years later, this laugh would be used by diesel auto-rickshaw manufacturers for the start up sound of their autos, when they release them in the Indian market.
My Granpa I always thought was an ordinary old man. He read his paper, smoked his beedi, went about his farming etc. But he was a very wise man. I divined this by chance.Once I was there, me and Granpa were trying to read the newspapers. Women were chatting loudly with the neighbors who dropped in for gossip. Those days people had lots of time, see. This loud chatting was getting on the nerves of us, the Men. They stopped only to draw breath or to shout a curse at an errant hen that came too close to the house or to scream at the neighbor's kid that went too near the river. I sense my Granpa getting exasperated with his reading. He lower the paper and mutter through clenched teeth,
'Vekili!!'
Now that is a slang term to describe unruliness in general. I liked him saying this. Shows him in a new light.
Years pass. Granpa is no more. I am unmarried and so theoretically should be having an orderly life. But there are times when one encounter this scene again in life. Typical family with women and kids raising a racket (sounds of domestic life) and the men of the home pulling out their hairs in exasperation. I tip my imaginary hat to the old man, remembering with awe the time he said that one word in my presence.
'Vekili!!'
He was indeed a wise old man.
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