Work at the Dhamayanthi House

If you lived at this house, you learnt to do some hard work as well to earn your right to be here. Young or old, one had to contribute in some small way to keep the mills grinding, in a manner of speaking.

My most abiding memory of work for small hands is that of Hari and Parthi taking out a huge anda of chutney material to the pond-like aatukal set in one corner of the thatched shed. There, these two would spread their legs out and with one wise repartee after another, would endlessly grind the mix and finish the work , always making that hard task seem so effortlessly easy and fun...sometimes, like Tom Sawyer, they would fool the little ones into helping them out by saying how adventurous the job of chutney making was and the poor soul would labour at it, while the two of them had some fun. They were also responsible for the coconut sweet mix for obbidus. Churning the butter from the large thaali of thick curd and coaxing out dollops and dollops of butter with hours of rope twisting and swishing was also an experience done then and never after...

We also took turns at sweeping and cleaning the house under aaya's watchful eyes. Sometimes the swabbing was also done with painstaking exactness and precision. The rows of visible wet lines on the floor gave one a feeling of great pride, as this made aaya happier than anything else. That chore done, we also assisted maami and the chithis in washing vessels and clothes. Kala chithi and Bharathi chithi were Masters of Ceremony here. Huge containers of water would be used to clean vessels and lay them out on wooden cots to dry in the hot Erode sun. The sight of so many vessels gleaming and spotless usually had me taking a few minutes off, every now and then, to stand and admire one's handiwork.

Washing clothes was one exhilirating job. White clothes would be given utmost preference as they were washed, scrubbed and rinsed endlessly in huge aluminium pots of water to emerge pure white and shining fresh. One got a head to toe wetting as the task was enthusiastically performed, but dried out when the clothes were put out to dry. The dhothis were laid out in geometric precision on the lines and pegging them with clotheslines was another enjoyable task. Folding them in the evening and putting them in cupboards belonging to different chithis and maamas and families...no task was grudged or resented. Everything was fun, laughter and giggles.

Laying out the beds was another task invested on the young ones. Each one had their corner, their own preferred nooks in that huge house. The beds were soft, pliant and covered with soft muslin sheets or vestis. The alluring softness of these beds has never been found anywhere else. In the morning, each one had to be rolled up and taken back to the room where they had to kept neatly.

We also had to fetch cool tumblers of water or 'moru' for every visitor who came in. High or low, masters or servants, aaya always had something to offer for all.

Life at this household was fun and happiness, and the training we received was nothing done under the threat of guns or punishment, yet, the lessons have been one for a lifetime. I sometimes feel  that Hari and Parthi developed a deep culinary appreciation, only because they gathered the aromas and fragrance of the ground spices and masals at the hand grinder. Contest that, anyone?

Games Aplenty

My Pongal holidays have come and gone in a blur of Pongal sweets, thin, runny karumbus and reality shows and talk shows in the TV. Not a hint of any physical activity, no games, not a movement away from the floor where I either reclined or lolled about chewing on something.

Holidays at Dhamayanthi aaya's house were always eagerly looked forward to and one had to have the prowess of a lion and the stamina of a camel to brave those holidays in the searing heat and games full of fun, mischief, tears, griefs and forgotten bruises. Our games were always rough there, though aaya  probably liked to believe she had us under a tight leash.

The large courtyard in the middle with its open space and the tin roofed godown adjoining the house were our playground. We played tough, brutal, runaroaund games there. There was one called 'kadala, nilama' and the one who was the catcher (decided by an unfair saat, bhoot, three or dhoni dakkara dhoiyan, or some other loony jingle learnt at school that decided the fate) would have to go around and catch the dodgy characters who would jump from nilam to kadal...the nilam was the hard concrete floor of the courtyard and the kadal would be the steps leading to the upper floor. Pony tails and plaited hair would all come undone and even the touch of one's ribbon would make one the unfortunate catcher next. One may spend rounds trying to gasp one's breath out to catch  the agile ones..not an easy task.  We usually had the little ones become the catcher by cheating on the saat,boot, three thing. Hari and Parthi were notorious, but I like to believe that all of us cheated the little ones to have fun at their expense. The moment the game began, elders would rush in to pull the dried clothes off the clothesline. Clothes were very important and darn if the kids caught their hair or their neck in the line.

Hide and seek was easily our favourite, because that house had a million secret corners. The washplace in the kitchen, the extra bathrooms (in between the wooden stacks and smelly drying kitchen clothes), the palam room, the doors ( you could hide an elephant behind them) sometimes, even the toilet. Hah...they caused some anxious moments for those who came there in a hurry and caught their breaths, not at the smell, but at the sight of a small body hurtling past them from the toilets. The front hall had a lovely, rangoon bamboo woven two seater, under which one could hide and sometimes, the game might have even moved on to the next round and one would lie waiting for the catcher, never mind if it was the next catcher....I remember that the only place taboo for us all was the small verandha upstairs which opened to the upstairs hall...we believed there was a ghost and no one was brave enough to dare it. Probably the two boys, Parthi and Hari did in a show of dare devilry...but, it was normally not chosen, because the catcher did not want to come there and so the fun was lost. The best part of the game was the resounding slap one would receive on the back accompanied by a frightening yell of 'Ice Pass/Eyes Pass??' that indicated that the one hiding was safe, out of reach of the seeker.

Another game was the water splash game played, normally when aaya went out shopping. We would climb the tin roof of the godown and walk along the precipitious edge along the courtyard wall. It was a long drop and  any misstep might mean danger and trouble - aaya was good at tongue lashing and yelling at us for making  her break her promise to her daughters and sons that we would be cared for and that we would be guarded against any fractures and hospitalisation during the holidays. But, the sense of challenge in that was compounded by the blast of water that would be directed at us from the washbasin tap in the courtyard. It was not a game for children alone...Siva maama and Kala chithi would join us with a warning that not a word was to be breathed when aaya returned. The sense of urgency and fun filled guilt with which we would dry our clothes and put everything in place the moment the tracker in the front hall rushed in to tell us that aaya was just around the corner in the kudhirai vandi exceeded the speed of a typhoon.

Not to be forgotten is the tent pitching atop the small bathoom at the backyard near the wash-stone and the nandiyavattai trees. We'd imagine ourselves as adventurers in the fashion of Enid Blyton characters and haul five to six bedsheets ( I remember a distinctly blue, ribbed one) on to the rooftop. There with the help of some wooden poles stolen from the room below, we would tie them together and spread the bedsheets over them as a sort of a roof. Soem fruits or theeni would be taken and hours spent giggling, laughing, fighting and frightening the little one away with threats and horror faces. We would climb down , not when the sun went down, but when the next door ladies would catch us peeping at them as they were about to use the loo. We'd come screaming down with ghoulish delight at having caught somebody with their pants down literally ...

Another favourite was playing hide and seek in a dark room. We would all stream into  the room piled with beds, matresses and pillows, close all the windows and block out even the smallest streak of light with cloth, switch off the light and choose a hiding place. The choking heat inside that room, the frightening feel of being alone in the dark, hoping for a small whisper or the slightest sound...while groping around with outstretched hands in that darkest of dark black engulfing one was an awesome game that helped dispel our fears of the dark and loneliness. The screams emerging from there frightened only those inside, because those outside could not hear anything from behind those locked doors and windows.

Upstairs, the most daring game was tying a frayed thayir kadayum rope from one window to another across the hall and trying to trapeze walk on it...Devanthi and I were always at it, while Hari and Parthi were always at tugging the rope and pulling us down. A job they were experts at.

Most of the kids in the clan were wiry, strong and alert then. The games made us so...I believe that while the battle of the bulge is losing its grip on us now, we were able to put it off for quite a long time, because of the games we played in our childhood. Some of our elders joined in the fun and that made it all so legitimate fun even when we were playing in forbidden areas. Thanks to Siva maama, Kala, Bharathi and Sathi chithis for joining us in our mad capers. I also wonder why aaya did not shout at us all the time, but let us have our fun, so long as we didn't break a limb or two? Was it because she was a lover of sports herself, as she told us once...she would swim from one bank of Cauvery to the other at Kodumudi, her home town and swing from the wooden rafters in her house even while looking after her siblings as a loving sister?

More Food fun at the House - Fruits

Food was never scarce at this household; nor was it wasted. Aaya always made sure that everything bought for the kitchen was monitored and found acceptable.

She made weekly trips to the market and if we were good, we accompanied her on these market trips. The Kudhirai vandi would be called and aaya, one or two of us and a whole lot of bags would go in. The trip was short and took us to the vegetable market, much like the ulavar sandhais you see nowadays. There, ayah selected the freshest greens, greenest vegetables, lushest tomatoes, biggest potatoes and brought them back in big cloth bags.

On arrival at the house, ayah took them to the courtyard, took out her small cot, filled water in a knee high bucket, wash the vegetables in streaming water and sort them out in small piles. We would carry them to the kitchen to maami or whoever was in charge and then they were stored in small baskets. Imagine feeding a small army of around ten to twelve people everyday!

Fruits, like mondampalam, kalkandu vazhalai, malai palam and the ever famous rasthali were her favourites among bananas. The mondampalam is a big plaintain fruit and small stomachs could never manage one full fruit, so we invariably got small two to three inch long cut pieces. We usually were trained to peel away the thick underskin of the fruit. It was sticky, but tasty and those of us who have had this training, till date relish this and retain this habit, much to the confoundment of the newcomers in the family.

Thaatha's favourites were the kalkandu vazhai and the malai palam...green, sweet and much sought after.

While these three varieties were rationed out, the rasthali was always available for hungry stomachs and greedy mouths. It would be bought in a huge bunch, proabably with fifty or sixty palams and was hung in the small room near aaya's cot. It was a favourite spot when one played hide and seek, because while waiting to be found out, one could always do it in quite contentment, on a banana high.

Aayah also bought water melons, sweet melons, sakkaravalli kilangu, kutchi kilangu ( which is usually the fat kilangu),panang kilangu, nungu and the nungu palam. Let me not forget the palapalams.

Water melon was cut into big pieces and shared out with all. Thaatha always had it, in small, delicately cut pieces, served in a beautiful saucer with a small spoon to eat with. Sweet melons were usually crushed with the fingers, sugar added to it and served in dripping consistency. Thaatha did not like this messy concotion and I remember he liked them diced, sugared and served.

Sakkaraivalli kilangu was boiled, the brown skin removed and the boiled kilangu mixed with fresh ghee and sugar and eaten in tight balls, licked one lick at a time. Kutchi kilangu was again boiled and served with sugar.

Nungu was available in straight our of bunches with the three nungus in the fruit shell, ready to be scooped out, licked, slurped and swallowed sometimes whole. Thaatha had it flavoured with elaichi and sugar, refrigerated and served. Nungu palam was the overripe nungu smoked and delicately charred on the outside and beautifully golden yellow inside. It had to be pulled out with the teeth and the stringy bits chewed and chewed , till the golden juice flowed into and out of the mouth. That was a cultivated taste, not popular with many in the family.

Panang Kilangu was the brown, chewey and succulent kilangu boiled into a sweetness that needed no sugar or sweetners

 As you can see, this is perhaps why so many in the family have a sweet tooth. If there was nothing sweet, there was always big, chunky white crystal kalkandu, or the dark brown, native karrupatti vellam, on which one could suck for an hour atleast.

Palapalam was a hot favourite in summer along with magoes. It was always there in a pale yellow or richly dark yellow colour in basins filled with these cholais, as they were called. We loved eating them as they were, inspite of aayah's warnings about stomach cramps, because it was a 'choodu' food. For thaatha, it was always served with generous doses of honey which smelt like roses and mango blossoms, since they were from the hives in the thottam.

Mangoes also were there, laid out in sack cloths in small rows and post lunch would always be looked forward to, becuase Chandra maama and the chithis made it a fetish practice of cutting the peel with sharp knives that left behind just a golden globe in the hand and an extraordinarily long rind of the fruit that twirled like a ribbon. Thenceforth, it would be cut and served with honey.

I also distinctly remember them taking out a whole mango, and kneading it into a juicy fruit, which would be punched open at the top and the juicy pulp drunk straight from the skin.

For us kids, there was also candied nellikai stored in the netted cupboard. Fresh small gooseberries were there for those wanted something strong, hot and perky. With salted chilli powder that was a perfect foil to all the sweet things that one fed on after lunch.  

I realise now that it was a house of fullness and choicest fruits. It was a house of discerning tastes, and one still sees them in the chithis and maamas. They truly deserve to say, ' Antha kaalathile...' and not be wrong by a mile. God bless the elders who made such an overwhelming memory of smells, tastes and textures, alive and rich.