I wish to talk about the years when global warming was yet to find its way into the dormant spaces of one’s mind. I wish to talk about the years when we fanned ourselves to sleep on dark nights when the power supply was cut off for a while. I wish to talk about happy times when the sky line was a brilliant blue bathed in sunlight, breathing out a gentle breeze that blew our cares away. Those were times that were pristine, soaked in simplicity and innocence, and now mere memories that tug at the heartstrings.
There was magic in those days, and every moment was an emotion. When winter eased its way into March, a slight chill would linger. April would slide in, soaked in nor ‘westers and with it came my favourite festival, Vishu, Kerala’s new year. There has always been something extremely beautiful about this festival. Mom and Dad made it a point to make it so. There would be floral patterns made on the floor and the entrance of our home with a paste of rice flower and turmeric powder, a bunch of fresh fruits, the rich fragrance of jasmine flowers and Vishu kanni konna or the Golden Laburnum flowers. Getting these flowers was a task, and Dad would scout around the locality for them. He would invariably find them somewhere nearby, and with some help, he would pluck a handful and bring them home. Nowadays, we buy them.
The evening ritual on the day before, involved the preparation of some sweetened flat rice and of course the arrangements for the early morning Vishu kanni. At the crack of dawn, the next day we kids would be woken up and led to the temple area to pray. The display before us would not only include the fruits and sweets that were placed in an urulli, ( a traditional shallow round vessel that is commonly used in Kerala ) but also an image of Lord Krishna, a mirror that reflected what was set for the puja, a golden coin or other items of wealth and a sacred text. Vishu kanni literally symbolises that which is seen for the first time and it is believed that the first glimpse of auspicious items will bring joy and prosperity the whole year long.
On the day of Vishu, the traditional Kerala sadya would be cooked by Mom. Times have changed – the tradition hasn’t.
May would make a gracious entry, and I do not ever remember dreading it the way I do now. It was pleasant with nor’westers still offering relief when the mercury levels decided to rise a little higher than usual. The month began with the annual May Party at school, though I really don’t remember the significance of it. In no time, the month would then cascade into the much-awaited vacation. In those days, the summer break lasted for a good six weeks. We were usually assigned some holiday homework to do, which we invariably finished off within the first few days. The rest of the days were ours to rule. There were breaks when we stayed back in the city, and there were others when we travelled to Kerala. In those days, if we did not travel, we did not mind. Now, when we don’t, we do mind. We need to run away to the hills or to the beaches to rejuvenate ourselves. In those days, staying at home was just fine. There was always so much to do. Mom would rustle up delicacies, and my sisters and I would spend long afternoons reading, discussing movies, listening to the radio or curling up beside Mom as she regaled us with stories. Mom was a fantastic storyteller.
Another ritual was that of chopping mangoes into perfectly shaped pieces of equal size. Dad was the expert. We never ate mangoes at any odd time. Dad would return from work in the evening and after a cup of coffee, would sit at the dining table and begin the ceremonial task. We kids would sit around him and watch in sheer wonder as the peel came off with not a bit of extra fruit on it.
The knife would make flawless incisions into flesh and bits of orange magic would tumble down onto the dish below. Popping those pieces into our mouths was nirvana.
In later years, my elder sister would come down with her husband during summer and it would be a time of deep bonding, fun and frolic. Those were days, when we gave each other time without botherations nagging us at the back of our minds. One day flowed seamlessly into another, churning out moments that did not just become memories but the very roots of everlasting bonds.
I miss those summer days of my childhood. Time never seemed to race past and we sauntered through life in a leisurely pattern. We spoke less about the heat and more of things that mattered. We chatted and found joy in the simplest of things. Did I mention the absence of mobile phones?
I miss those days. I miss them because the simple and beautiful things that dotted the landscape of my life are no longer there. I miss those days because life was simpler.
Most importantly, I miss those days because of the person I was at that time and no longer am. Summers are no longer the same and it is not merely because of global warming.
By Jaya Pillai
Jaya Pillai is a teacher, learner, an award winning writer and poet, cooking enthusiast, traveller, meditator and author of Afternoons and More. She loves to engage in things that stimulate her creativity. Her works have been published in over 11 anthologies and she has her own website – https://weavingmomentsjaya.artoonsinn.com
2 Responses
Just read it and like always it touches one’s heart and it’s very very true. I guess we all miss those days when life was simpler and we were simpler people.
Thank you 😊