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.
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 !
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