Nostalgia 

What do you think about when you get some time all for yourself - without the worries of finishing assignements, without worrying about Dow Jones or without even worrying about yourself? I usually think about my childhood. I am sure most of you do. Haven't you felt how great it would have been had somebody invented a Time Machine? We could have travelled back in time and re-visited all those moments we cherish. Well, thanks to God (or chemicals, as per the atheists), everybody has one - our mind. The one and only one machine that can take you back and forth in time at any speed. Let me try to take you through some of those times that I frequently visit on my time-machine.

 Onam

Onam is the national festival of Kerala celebrated in the Malayalam month of Chingam (August/September) for 10 days. Many myths surround Onam, the most popular one being, to celebrate the return of the legendary ruler Mahabali under whom the state flourished so much so that even the Devas (Heavenly princes) got jealous, once upon a long time. They made Lord Vishnu push Mahabali deep down into the earth, but gave him a grant to visit his people once a year. The return is being celebrated as Onam, the harvest festival. Every Malayalee must be having at least one memory about Onam that they cherish, and I am no exception.

One of the things from childhood that I miss a lot is the yearly visit to our grand parents' place during Onam. As a kid, my excitement about the visit used to start along with the Onam exams itself. Adding to the excitement were the pookkalams (floral carpets) on almost every junction leading to my school. The ray of hope (Onam vacation) after the exams is the one which usually saw me through the exams unscathed. We usually used to start for my grandpa's place the very next day of our exams getting over. My grandpa was very particular that everybody in the family should celebrate Onam together and everybody should get to the family house before Uthradam (first day of Onam).

For me there were ample reasons to feel excited about having an Onam with my grandparents. First of all, my grand parents were still living in that rural village where people, at that time, still used to celebrate Onam the traditional way, or a lot close to the traditional way, than in the city where we lived. Secondly there are acres and acres of paddy field to run through and play hide and seek. Then all my cousins would be there and we would all be like a battalion let loose to play day-in and day-out. And then my most favorite - the raw mangoes- there were different varieties of mango trees - sweet and sour, big and small, tall and short to name a few! On top of this, there would be the grand Onam feast every day with all the traditional items which could fairly be called a 'grand culinary celebration' for 10 days. What else could a humble mind ask for during a vacation?

So, the next day after the last exam we would start from our house early in the morning after taking a fresh bath and putting on our new clothes (Onakkodi) and shoes. We either took a train or a fast passenger bus to get to our grand parents place. The thing I remember the most is the bus journey. We used to walk to either Pallimukku or East fort bus stand and wait for a bus to come our way. I never could understand at that time how my father used to find the right bus for us to board, none of them had my gandpa's village name on the display board, but I trusted him anyway. Like many of you, I also wanted to get the side seat in the bus and almost always managed to get one. My sister was also given the side seat since she had this ritual habit of throwing up royally while traveling by bus. Anyway bus journey to grandpa's place always looked like an eternity, and I always felt like we were going to a far far place even though it was only a 45 minutes drive in bus. May be it was the place that made me feel that it is out of this world, since we were living in the city.

We would get down near a small bridge on the road side where there was a bus stop - with no covered stand or anything, but a round rusted green metal sheet marked 'Bus Stop' fitted on an electric post. There was a petty store (peedika) adjacent to the bus stop here too, like in many other remote bus stops through out the length and breadth of Kerala, as if both were meant to be together. Achan would sometimes get a cigerette from the peedika and light it with the indigenous lighter provided at the peedika which is a smoldering coir piece hung upside down to keep it lit. The road is National Highway with fast passenger buses screeching past and some autos and ambassador cars passing by. We cross the road under the careful supervision of Achan and Amma. On this side of the road, from no where would appear a mysterious small creek down where some houses are located on the banks of a small canal flowing under the bridge. It is a good 15-20 minutes walk from there to the family house. From here begins my heart pounding twice as fast with excitement, and for good reason.

From there starts an entirely new world for me. Every single person on the way would recognize my parents, wish them, stop and talk to them. Everybody there knew my father very well. This was something much different than in the city where even people well known to each other would hardly wish each other, let alone stop and talk. I used to think that my father is a real hero there. By the way, I forgot to mention that the place we were going to was my father's family house and we were going to meet his parents. There used to be more surprises on the way to the family house. I remember during one such yearly visit, we ran into an yellow snake (chera) gliding its way through a small rain puddle near a house on the way. It was real long and gold-ish yellow in color. I had never seen anything like that before. My mom insisted that we should let the people in the house know of the snake, shouting half a mile away from it. Achan knew that that would not be necessary since yellow snakes are not all that uncommon there and moreover it is harm less. Anyway Achan didn't want to take a chance (with Amma, of course) and informed the people inside the house of the sight of an yellow snake. As expected, they were not alarmed, thanked us for letting them know and continued doing what they were doing. Now I know what they must have said when we left - "City people!".

Coming back, the creek from the roadside leads directly to a vast paddy field - 5 or 10 times bigger than the Chandrasekharan Nair stadium that I have seen - a lush green carpet of paddy crops as far as eyes can reach with thick coconut vegetation on its edges. The wind swaying the paddy leaves left and right is such a soothing sight to see. There would be plenty of pure white cranes all along the field looking for an absent minded frog basking in the sun, or for the little ponds to dry up to help themselves a feast. Adding to the colors would be a few king fishers with their terrific display of acrobatics patrolling the fields. The scare-crows, placed here and there in the field, could be termed as the only misfit in this natural extravaganza of colors. Achan had told me that there were also a few foxes in and around that area, but obviously their business hours were not during day time.

We would have to cross the paddy field and believe me, crossing the field was not all that easy. It was exactly like playing maze for me, but again Achan knew exactly where to turn and which cut to take.My sister and I would be pulling the paddy leaves all the way while cutting through the field. Once we cut through the filed, we would get to the canal, for crossing which, there was a coconut tree plank placed across it and a rope tied from one end ot the other for balancing. The canal was not so deep, but this proposition of balancing our way across it always scared me, being a hardcore acrophobic. After crossing the canal, we had to cross one more paddy field to reach the family house.

By the time we reach there, almost all of my uncles, aunts and their kids would have already arrived and the festivities would have begun. I would greet my grandparents and others cursorily and would manage to slip into the kids' territory almost immediately. My cousins would gather around me and we would start planning things for the next 10 days. Since I was the only kid from the city, they knew that my main attraction is in the paddy fields, ponds and the ducklings. But first we would rush to the nearest mango trees. We would climb on the trees and start eating raw mangoes, even though there were enough mangoes hanging low enough to pluck it from the ground or beat down with a stick. But, the fun was not just in eating mangoes, but in climbing too! I liked to eat mangoes while it was still hanging from the tree.

Once we finish covering (climbing) all the mango trees in the near vicinity, my cousins would update me with the 'stories' since the last Onam. These include sighting of snakes or snakes' eggs near the house, incidents at the school, the movies they have seen, their latest home made cricket bat (which would be nothing but a wooden plank cut in the shape of a boat row), a new bird nest discovered etc., to name a few. By then message would come for lunch or rather Onam feast (Onasadya) and we would all clean ourselves up and go inside the family house. Being a big family, there would be at least 25 to 30 people present. Although the family house is not all that big, there are many houses of our relatives in the same compound, where people were put up at night.

The Onasadya (or simply sadya) was served on banana leaves on the floor in the living room which was the biggest room in the house.  All the 25 - 30 people except a few women serving would be sitting around the room in a big circle in front of the banana leaves placed. Sadya would contain all the traditional items and even more - all original home made. The serving starts from three kinds of pickle - mango, lemon and ginger, then the other side dishes kichdi, kaalan, olan, aviyal, puzhukku, then pappadam, vattal (banana chips), upperi (jaggery covered banana cuts) as snacks. The rice would be served once all the side items are placed on the banana leaves. Rice would go with parippu, sambar, rasam, pulisseri and moru(butter milk), served in that order. As dessert, there would be atleast three payasams, my favorite being semia.

After having such a sumptuous meal, we kids would mostly take a nap for a while before embarking on further adventures. If the excitement level is too high (the first couple of days) then the nap would conveniently be ignored. Either way, we would head towards the paddy field with all gears - bats, balls, sticks, fishing rods and until it gets dark we would be out. There were several games we used to play - hide and seek, seven-tees, cricket, fishing etc. Mostly we would encounter at least two or three 'tholumaadans' which is a part of Onam celebration. Tholumadans are people dressed up as big giants (something like Big foot) with leaves of trees and banana leaves wrapped all around their bodies accompanied by people playing bands (chenda), shouting and visiting houses. This is not normally seen in cities. We would join them for a while dancing and shouting. Kids would get scared by the sight of a tholumadan with all the accessories fitted on to their bodies. Actually people use tholumadan's name to scare mischievious kids and make them behave. I used to make fun of my sister saying that one tholumadan who came to our house dancing got scared at the sight of my sister and ran away. Even now she turns red whenever I mention that.

As I mentioned our outing in the fields would come to an end ony when the darkness falls, then we retreat to the family house, have supper (almost the same kind of sadya as lunch) and resort to indoor games till we go to bed. This process is repeated like clockwork for the next seven to ten days until it is time to go back. There would not be even an accidental mention of Maths or Science or History during this while. By the time we are about to go back, understandably I would get sad. Mainly it was because I knew I will be missing all this fun while in city, but also partly due to the thought of going back to school after vacations. Anyway after bidding good bye, we would cross the same paddy fields, cross the same canal through the coconut bridge and wait at the same bus stop. A few of my cousins would accompany us up to the bus stop, visibly not yet ready to say good bye. We would take another bus and head towards the city while I, not too excited about the side seat this time, would be silently thinking of the wonderful vacation that just got over.

I started missing the bus journey when we bought a car. I started missing the fields when they built houses over them. I started missing the coconut-plank bridge when they built a concrete bridge. I started missing Onam slowly. I wish I had a real time machine.