jjuly 21 2021

 

This house is in Udyawar. It is about a 20 minute walk from my father's home in his native village and about a 20 minute drive from Udupi.. the husband's home.

 

I have memories of visiting this place, as a child. And with good reason too. The owner of this house was my father's best friend. My father's friends.. one could count them on the fingers of your hand. So when he said he was a friend, they truly were good friends. 

 

They were friends and they became relatives later. He got married to my father's niece. 

 

So it was amusing to see my father being addressed as uncle by the lady of the house, and fondly by name, by the man of the house. 

 

The house was one of the typical gaon ka ghar, or 'gaanvche ghara' as we would call it. It was a 2 storyed house. ground plus one more. 

 

As soon as one would enter the house, as is typical, there would be a wooden bench. behind that bench was a room. As one faced the bench, to the right was a flight of stairs which led to the floor above and next to the stairs was a room which was always closed.

 

To the left of the bench, the passage extended to lead into a kitchen.

 

My childhood memory of that room in the corner, with the door always locked, is vaguely clear.

I remember hearing a dull banging of the door from the inside of the room while the door, while the room remained locked from the outside. I also remember that on some occasions I have heard the soft muttering, almost complaining sound of a woman, from behind that door. I also remember the mother and the aunts talking amongst themselves about the mysterious woman inside that room. She was the mother of my father's friend. And was now mentally unstable.

 

My father's friend, was a Brother -in - law to me, so we referred to him as Bhavaji. He owned an oil mill. I would only know of coconut oil being pressed.. as most people owned coconut trees and coconut shells would be dried and sent to his mill to extract coconut oil. The residual pulp of the pressed coconuts, would be sold as cattle feed, 'Pendi' as we call it.

 

We would visit our native place with father, once every two years. And that many times I have visited his place, until 1985. That was the last time I visited Udupi. 

 

The next time I went to Udupi was in 1992, as a bride to be. 

 

And the strangest of coincidences was that that dad's friend and my brother in law, happened to be my fiance's grand uncle. My cousin - his grand aunt. And the lady who used to live behind that locked door, was his maternal great grandmother.

 

And during my wedding, my cousin was ragged mercilessly.... ' are you from the bride's side, or the groom's ? ' ' oh, you are conveniently changing sides, are you? 

 

This cousin sister of mine was a good 25 years older to me. 

 

The next time I visited this house was with the husband. 

 

I remember visiting the oil mill, and the shop where my husband would chomp on the 'pendi' and challenge me to try it,, assuring me that it tasted like chocolate. I could not bring myself to eat it.

 

With the husband, I used to visit Udupi, at least once a year, for Ganpati. On my way to my father;s native home, we would invariable make a 5 to 10 min halt at this house.

 

A quick "how are you,' from us, was answered by a " how are your parents" - this directed at me. We would stay for a while, exchange notes, eat , do the 'paay dharche ' - touching their feet, seeking their blessings, and leave.

 

When the children arrived, we would take them along to visit them and they were introduced to their great grand uncle and aunt.

 

The husband would venture into the kitchen. Open the lids of the various pots and pans and containers and help himself to a laddu, or some chakli or a bit of sev, or a bowl of the curry of the day. He would then take the children out into the yard to look for the small local varietiy of mangoes- the ghonte ambo, also called the ghonto ambo., which would have fallen from the tree. the little mangoes would be the juicy variety. The freshly fallen fruits would be washed and he would show the children how to eat them. Eat?.. no.. suck on them. The city bred children, who in Bombay were not used to interacting with too many relatives, were typically shy... and then to see their dad behave like a child himself.. And who sucks on a mango? They would stand their ,,wide eyed.. and no amount of nudging would get them to have a go at the mango. 

 

The said, brother - in law, who was the husband's grand uncle and the children's great grand uncle, had now shut down the oil mill. He was now selling icecream.

 

Now, with no 'pendi' to munch on, the husband told the son.. ' ask your 'pijja ' ( great grand father / uncle) to give you an icecream. 

 

The grand uncle told his grand nephew - " ask your father to buy you one ' 

 

And then he fished out a chocobar and handed it over to the little boy.

 

At this time he said... ' you are doing a good thing you know, visiting us, and bringing the children along to meet us. Years later, we won;t be around, the house too might not be standing, but these children will remember, "haanga aamgele ek ghar aashile'' ( literally translated as - around here used to be the house of one of our own).

 

Years passed, and my brother in law passed away. His wife, my cousin, went to live with her daughters and the house was locked. Each Ganesh Chaturthi, in the evening , after the pooja and household chores of my home in Udupi were tackled, I used to visit my paternal native home along with my childrem. We used to travel by an autorickshaw.. booking him for the return journey too. It would be late in the evening as we would leave Udupi. Sometimes it would be a rainy evening. But without fail, my children would say.. "some where here was the 'icecreama ajja li angadi" They had associated him with the icecream shop.. and like he had said, they remembered. Every time ... without fail. We three would peer out from behind the rexin curtain of the rickshaw, looking out for his shop and the house behind... ask the auto guy to sloe down, in my limited Kannada vocabulary.. ' heega rickshaw swalpa slow maadi '.. we would sadly take in the sight of the closed shop and the dark outline of the house.. empty ..vacant as it was. And as we returned to Udupi, we would slow down and look out once again...remembering the people who were associated with me through my father, my cousin sister, my husband ..my children.. 

 

I would always want to visit the house ..atleast once during our 4 day Ganapati break. But other responisbilities took priority and we would get only that 2 min period to see the place as we drove past it. Also, since it would be the monsoon season, and overgrown grass and shrubs, and in the dim light cast by the street lights I did not dare venture in. 

 

This year it was different. Corona..Covid, made it that way. Last August, there were strict quarantine protocols in place in Karnataka - institutional quarnatine at first which was then changed to home quarantine. We really could not manage that. Last year we did not celeberate Ganesh Chaturthi at our home in Udupi. There was the option of celeberating it on Ganesh Jayanti, in the month of Maagh and we took it. 

 

So it was that we were in Udupi, this February. 

 

And we went to Udyawara, to visit the Ganapati temple there. And while going back to Udupi, we decided to drive past that house. 

 

In the early morning sunlight, it looked just as it had.. as I had remembered it. 

 

There were some welders, fabricating something close to the street. One of the shops was now owned by a welder. I got out of the car and walked towards the house, passing by these strange men who were at work.. on the grounds of MY cousin's home. 

 

There was overgrown grass.. shrubs.. and the thinnest pathway remained.. leading to the house. 

 

The house had vertical wooden bars, that separated the verandah of the house from the yard outside. They were in place. guarding the house. The doors. they were still there. The mango tree.. i couldnt find it. I could not walk ahead.. was held back by the thicket of shrubs, the fear of treading on or greeted by a snake . I was held back by the tears that brimmed my eyes... by the lump in my throat. The sunlight still pierced through the trees... the house still stood, holding its own.. and as I stood there, through the bars i could see a wispy image of my barely 5 feet tall sister, pottering around, her husband reading the newspaper , she, smiling a wide smile as she came out to welcome us...i could almost hear her speak... my husband, a 30 year old,, laughing, asking her for mangoes, snacks... and yes, i also could hear that dull thudding on that door. 

 

i just stood there, lost.. but also very aware that i should be leaving..There is no one in that house .. 

 

I took a lot of pictures of that house. 

 

i must have turned back several times in a strange state of disbelief as well as acceptance... 

 

I shared the pics with my 2 children who are in different parts of the world today. and yes, they remembered their 'icecreama ajja'

 

and his words rang in my ears. once again... here is this house..this house, of my relatives.. of my people!

 

As more and more of my people pass on to another realm.. it is these memories of the , tangible and intangible that seem to give me a sense of belonging ...... roots !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Asha Kamath

September 16 20210021  ·

Ganesh Chaturthi and a trip to Udupi, toh 'these are a few of my favourite things' wala post toh banta hai.

 

This time there was a lot of ' same same' in terms of emotions, like each year. The same things attracted. What was 'different' , was the reaction . 

 

All these years, I have been a clinger.. clinger to the past, ruing every change. 

 

This year, that changed. 

 

My camera gallery still has the same or similar frames this year, the love for the familiar. But my emotional response to them has been of love. Just love. No hint of any sadness there. An acceptance...and not a helpless acceptance of an inevitability as some landmarks disappear while others face the ravages of time.. Just an acceptance. 

 

Each time we go to Udupi, one of my favourite drives, is through the village of Mulki. Mulki is about 30 kms from Mangalore and 30 Kms from Udupi. 

 

My parents had made it a point to visit the temple there, each time we went to our native village, and then the husband and I made our own ritual of visiting this temple, on our way to Udupi, soon after we landed at the Bajpe airport.

 

As we leave the highway and cruise along the narrow, winding roads, along side compound walls of bricks cut out of laterite stone, the stone which is now a dark brown, very damp and green with moss and sprouting out fresh shoots of ferns. 

 

The very Konkani houses are easily identified by the ratnagandhi trees abounding with the orange flowers. The hibiscus plants are laden with the bright red flowers and then there are other plants from the same family, with flowers in shades of yellow, pink and even mauve. 

 

Then there are houses, which open out directly on to the street. From the half open double doors or through the bars of an open window, I shamelessly peer inside, looking for the familiar 'chowk -mallya ghar', looking for signs of activity in the house. But most houses are quiet. It is around 12.00 pm in the afternoon. But because it is Ganpati time, there are women working in groups outside a few houses, removing the weeds and other undergrowth along the walls of the house.. draped in bright sarees,, a flower or a gajra adorning every head, chit chatting as they run their scythes through the grass.

We drive into the temple square and I quickly mark the stores which are open. When we were children,. the parents would buy some potato papad, sun dried wheat vermicilli, jackfruit papads and other such ' gaonche khaana' - delicacies not freely available then despite the odd Mangalore store in the vicinity of our home in mumbai. As an adult, with a more discerning taste (of the tongue), I am now closely looking at the bunches of banana hanging outside every store, seeking out the 'rasbale banana'. I know of 5 varieties of bananas, the local mumbai one, then the Putbale - which are the size of our fingers and somewhat similar in taste to our elaichi bananas. I am not sure if they are the same. Then there is the Nandrabale variety - ie the Kerala banana . Then comes the plump and bright yellow skinned Mysore banana. Medium in length, this variety is sweet with a hint of sour and is looked down upon by the spouse. And then there is the Rasbale . to the untrained eye it is a paler version of the Mysore banana. But flavour wise,'' ek baar khaaye toh hamesha yaad rahe ''. 

 

Making a mental note to buy those, I enter the temple. 

 

The temples in Mangalore have more or less a similar plan. You enter and find yourself in an aangan. It forms the outer Pradakshina Patha of the temple. It will have a Tulasi vrindavan, Dhwajastambha, a brass Deepastambha - the one here is mounted on the back of a tortoise or should I say, Kurma. We cross this aangan and pass through another dwara. On both sides of this, are wide, waist high platforms which extend on all 4 sides. These platforms are called the zagali. In front of the zagali is another angan and directly in front is the sanctum sactorum, called the 'garbha ghudi'. This angan is the inner pradakshina marga.

 

I find the familiar sights and miss some. The priest disbursing the 'tirtha and gandha and flowers' still sits in his corner as is the 'mama' who collects and hands out reciepts of monetary offerings made, or sevas which are booked. the whole area fragrant with the gaandha, tirtha and flowers

 

As I undertake my 'soottoo' - the pradakshina around the sanctum, I miss the familiar sight of the very young or very old priests who would be making the 'gaandha; - sandalwood paste, by rubbing a thick sandalwood stick on a 'saane'. 

 

And then comes into my line of vision ,the soot covered wooden bars beyond which the naivedya is cooked . And the whiff of a cooling hearth, the odd ember, glowing, still emitting that woody fragrance of the wood fired choolha. ... some steam rising from a covered utensil or two.... rice .. says the mind.

I smile and continue walking. then comes the well and the familiar sights of the gleaming copper 'kolso' - the copper pots used to draw water from the well. Pots of various sizes. all of them dented at one or more places, as they would have hit the walls of the well sometimes.. the dents , the distinct shape of the pots . all a marker of their age.

 

Mulki is one place known for it's Oracle. I have evocative memories of having witnessed one such ceremony as a child. 

 

My father always said, the GSB community is a small one.. and he would show it by cupping his palm. For the first time we decided to have a coffee at a small restaurant outside the temple. It is past twelve in the afternoon and only Poori Bhaji is available. we order a plate each and some coffee. The kitchen is visible and I can see the cook, light a gas, roll out the puris, place the bhaji and chutney in the plats while the puris are getting fried. He is making the coffee now, and I spy a satchet of Nescafe Sunrise instant coffee in his hand. Instant ka funda has breached through this sleepy little hotel, with 4 tables.

There are 2 other tables which are occupied ans as both parties overhear each others conversations, it turns out that we are cousins, who had not met for more than 2 decades. Happiness! Much banter ensues. happy memories are recounted.. there is much laughter and they also take care of our bill !

 

The first fhour of my trip had been an enjoyable one.

 

Adding a lot of pictures to this post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is this custom of writing the name of one's village, preceeding one's name, amongst the male members of my community, the GSBs. The husband follows this as did my father. But not my son.

 

Once two strangers get introduced to each other by name, the next question which immediately follows is, ' gaon khancho?' - meaning , which place / village/ town, do you belong to?

 

The husband's side of the family belong to Udyavara and we are the Udyavar Kamaths.

 

Udyavara is a village and a beautiful one. It is about 5 to 6 kms away from the town of Udupi. 

 

The village after Udyavara, is Kuthupady, my father's native village. And I belonged to the Kuthupady Hegde family, before the shaadi.

 

Udyavara boasts of a very famous Ayurvedic College, today.

 

The Ganapati temple there, is well known. Whenever we visited Kuthupady as children, we visited this temple. It made for a good outing in the evening, when we cousins, the parents, the uncles and aunts would walk to it.

 

 

The temple has a small tank outside. 

 

The silver idol is a very beautiful one.

 

The temple was also known for another very distinctive feature . The 'ruppyaa doni panchkadayi'.

 

Ruppey - meaning silver

Doni - meaning a boat

Panchkadayi or Panchkajayi - is the typical prasad made at most temples. It is usually made by mixing scraped coconut with jaggery and to this very moist mix, or slurry, is added some poha, some popped rice - लाही, and roasted black sesame seeds.

 

It was said that on some festival days, the Panchkadayi was mixed in this huge silver boat. The offerings to the Lord were made first and then it was distributed to the people who visited the temple that day.

 

On one not so fine a day, the silver boat was stolen.

 

Now a stainless steel boat stands in it's place, and it is now the Doni Panchkadayi, for which the temple is known for.

 

Adding a few pics to this post.