വിഷു കണി

ഇന്ന് വിഷു.
സൂര്യനെയും തോല്‍പ്പിച്ച് ഉണര്‍ന്
വിഷു കണി ഒരുക്കി.

മകനും പുരുഷനും
കണ്ണ് അടച്ചു
തോളില്‍ കൈയിട്ടു
നിന്റെ സന്നിധാനത്തില്‍
എത്തിച്ചു.

പിന്നെ, ഇട്ളിയും ചമ്മന്തിയും
കാപിയും പായസവും
കൈനീട്ടവും.
ധിറുതിയില്‍ കാര്‍ ഓടിച്ചു
ജോല്ലിക് വന്നു
കസേരയില്‍ ഇരുന്നപോള്‍
ഉള്ളില്‍ നിന്നും ഒരു
നെടുവീര്പ്...
ഒരു നൊമ്പരം..
എന്തോ മറന്നതുപോലെ....

കണ്ണാ, നിന്‍ മുഖം
ഒന്ന് നേരെ കാണുകപോലും
ചെയിതില്ല.

ജീവതത്തിന്റെ നെടോട്ടത്തില്‍,
കണ്മുമ്പില്‍ വന്നിട്ടും,
കാണാമറയത് എന്നപോല്‍..

In memory of Ashram

From my room, I could see the river Periyar. Sometimes, between the bamboo trees that my father planted on the banks, I could see a country boat sailing by, in a soothing rhythm, craddled by the river. The water, as the oars slide pass through it, made a special rippling sound. I remember sitting on the steps, water gliding my feet, hearing the oars and the distant sound of someone washing their clothes on the banks of the river. No matter how hot a day is, I will be shiedled from the harsh afternoon sun by the bamboo, mango and jackfruit trees. There would be mynahs, crows and occasional kingfishers. All these have now dwindled into the night stories I tell my firsborn, as I struggle to keep myself awake.

I recall the many mornings I woke up, opened the bedroom window and stood there, watching the river. But there were equally (if not more) numerous other times, when in a teenaged hurry, I rushed to my college without a single glance at her. Had I known that within a few years I would be so far away from her, that a gentle afternoon breeze would evoke nostalgia and that to be back again would take weeks of preparation and planning -- had I known all these -- maybe I would have embraced those moments a bit longer.

Ammuma and I shared the bedroom. Our room had two oldwooden beds, kept together, a soft mattress on it and a few pillows. Ammuma slept on the side next to the window facing the river and I slept next to her, facing my study table. There was a small almariah for Ammuma's clothes. It smelled of camphor whenever she opened it. Inside the almariah, there was a chest and she kept old letters and pictures. I loved digging through it every once in a while. There was also the quintessential balm, Bengay, and I used to rub it on her back. My clothes were inside an almariah in a different room. There was also a shelf with my books and on top of the shelf, there was this CD player that did not work properly. A very heavy fluoreschent blue candle holder that Thampi Veliyachan got from his office was kept on the lid of the CD player and that seemed to make it work.

In the evenings, Ammuma will lit the lamp in our pooja room, which was on the upstairs veranda adjacent to our bedroom. On one side of the veranda was our pooja area and a thookumanjam (wooden oonjal/cradle) occupied the rest of the space. The light breeze that swaddled river Periyar would eventually come to us sitting on the thookumanjam. Sometimes I used to lie down on the thookumanjam when she chanted the evening prayers and was always scolded and asked to sit, instead of lying down during the sandhya-neram. We also had a thulasi thara on our front porch and we used to light a small lamp over there too.

I miss her and my home.

Monsoons were extra special. The greenery that surrounded our home, the Periyar that overflowed and gave a fiery look to her, the fury of the winds, the beauty of the rains-- and to watch it all from our veranda -- it tugs my heart and I ache for it..

Ammuma and I stayed together when my parents left to the US after my sister got married. I fought with her every single day, but in the night, I slept embracing her and when she woke me up in the mornings after her pooja, there was a faint smell of bhasmam, saambraani and chandanam. Sometimes I will lie awake in the bed hearing her chants and watching the amber flick that reflected on the glass window from the oil lamp. Sun rise would be a few minutes away and to this day, the calmness I felt on those mornings remain irreplaceable.

Some days, I will decide to go the temple with her and I will promise her so, the night before. I did not always keep my promise. But those days that I did, I would wake up with her, have our tea and take a shower and we would walk to the Narasimha temple or the Manapuram temple. There would be hardly anyone on the streets, a few temple go-ers, early office and tution go-ers. Once inside the sanctum sanatorium of the temple, Ammuma would immerse in her prayers (which I assume were her pleas for a better life for her three children and six grandchildren) and I would stand close to her, letting the peace of dawn engulf me. Sometimes the Nambiar-maash would play his edakka and to stand there, listening to him play was a treat. I am not a religious person, but the divinity I still feel about the temples I used to frequent has been my achor many times afterward.

Not far from our home, but not walkable either, is another temple, supposed to be built by Perumthachan. The temple is beautiful, more so because it remained untouched by Daivasom board to modernize it and retained its original structure. (It has been 9 years since I last visited this temple and perhaps it might have also caught up with the times and would not be as raw as it once was). One evening, I remember being there and the priests were just lighting the lamps on the temple premises. Once inside, it was still a bit dark but that would soon give way to light once the lamps were fully lit. Suddenly someone started singing a keerthanam and I stood there mesmerized. It was most beautiful - something that is still etched in my memory.

There is another memory associated with this same temple: The drive to this temple is a bit tricky and the road (built above an aqueduct) is narrow and allowed only one way traffic. My sister was driving our white Omni van and not being an experienced driver, was a bit fearful of that road. However, Achan asked her to go ahead and drive and not being the one to disobey (that was solely my domain) she did. Half way up the aqueduct, she saw an autorickshaw coming down and got tensed. I wanted to jump out and run, but decided to stay put. The auto driver, seeing a young girl at the wheel, decided to scare her (this is my take on the story) and kept coming forward. My sister was fully tensed and was looking at Dad for advice. I don't recall much what happened afterwards, but our van scratched the auto, a crowd gathered, Dad asked my sister to move and sat on the driver seat and exchanged a few pleasantries with the driver and we drove away.

Sitting here in Dallas, on a bright sun shiny Wednesday afternoon, my thoughts wandered like the floating clouds above me and gave way to this post.