She loves coming back home during the semester breaks. After three months of tongue numbing food and yawn inspiring classes, all her senses wake in her mother’s house. She dragged her suitcase at 7 AM and found venpongal waiting for her. In her house, stood five blue pillars. That strange blue that is found only in South Indian Brahmin households. They loom, like sore thumbs. The same blue runs over window frames. The toilet door eaten by some strange creature, never quite closes enough for comfort. The staircase leading upstairs on which even the most sure footed ones had to find balance. Red oxide floors with their small unassuming pits.
She spends her first day drowning in the love of her family. Her brother ransacks her suitcase, and even in his disappointment, she finds comforting familiarity. Her father updates her on neighbourhood gossip. The maami from two houses down who showed too much leg in her nine yard saree. The temple priest’s daughter who ran away with the intern priest. The cousin whose baby looked nothing like his parents. The whiny boy next door who didn’t clear the JEE, and whose mother told the world that he wasn’t interested in going to IIT anyway. Her mother cooks her favourite food and the promise of a month long break from college glistens on her diamond nose stud.
They sleep a little late at night. She tells them how hard the coursework is. But they only want to know so much about her life. More particularly, they don’t want to know if she is having fun. They don’t spend half the household income on her college and hostel dues so she can go out for a movie. The dull gray of a forthcoming lecture on principles, values and prohibition on going out with boys will come soon in a few days. Once she has half-way drowned in that familial love and there is no way to come back up and breathe.
She wakes up the next day to the strains of Kurai Onrum Illai1. Her mother likes to play Carnatic Music in the wee hours of the morning. It’s 5 AM and she wants to sleep more. But good girls wake up early. She is annoyed with Rajaji. Kurai Onrum Illai? There are a thousand things wrong with her life, her home and these expectations. A million regrets. Piling one on top of the other. Her mother yells for her help in the kitchen. She wishes she could go back to her college that very day. Better the cold thin walls of her hostel room than this claustrophobia. Her mother yells again.
- Kurai Onrum Illai is a Carnatic song penned by C Rajagopalachari and made immortal by MS Subbulakshmi. Loosely translated it means “No Regrets Have I”. [back]
Why are your tam-brahm fiction pieces always so stereotypical ? mebbe sometime you could write about the neo-tam-brahm :)
Niranjan,
It’s not that you should not want to disassociate yourself and feel special enough to call yourself neo, it’s just that it was done by everyone’s uncle in the 60s.
neo tam brahm am, murugakka mandayya…
Fiction Fragments – concocted from real events of the past..
Velai Vetti Illama Ennavo Yazhavu idhu..
very nice writing..btw, i saw you on tv a month ago! great going.
Niranjan Srinivas: What exactly is a neo-tam-brahm? Seriously, tell me. And what is it with this post post modern obsession with dismissing stereotypes? :)
Anonymaas: I thought it started in the 40s. But some uncles were slow on the uptake. :)
Nepa S: What sheer brilliance. Now only if it had a URL to go with it.
MC: Thanks.
Nepa, ne yarappa? enna kulam, enna gothram? yen inga vanthu concoction, decoction nnu olarittu pora?
This may not be one of your best, and perhaps isn’t my favourite so far, but I could imagine every word of it. All those years ago, when I used to come home between the terms, for a few days life would run real smooth. Then suddenly, this feeling of a disconnect. It’s nobody’s fault. Just happens. One grows up perhaps.
There is no obsession with dismissing stereotypes, since the neo-tam-brahm would be as much a stereotype as the traditional tam-brahm :) , just a more contemporary stereotype. And although I’m sure you do know what I mean by neo-tam-brahm, here goes : She does not have to fear a ‘don’t go out with boys’ lecture, but might be apprehensive of answering probing questions about the boyfriend that her parents know about, and maybe even approve. :) and no yelling about getting up early, etc etc. Complaints about hard course work might cause concern reg. stress that she might be going through in college. (with numerous reports of suicides in various elite institutions, in which she might be studying, parents are worried !) Hope this helps…
anonymas : murugakka mandayya , eh :-)
so what i meant was : why are all your tam brahm pieces cast in the traditional stereotype. and i did not mean to be as critical as my post might have sounded.
Fifth In Line: I think the sharpest regret is the one of not eating more while at home.
Niranjan Srinivas: I guess I can only write about what I know. You’re right – perhaps my obsession with the more traditional lot has something to do with my the fact that I relate to them and grew up with them around me. But these are not strictly traditional/ or modern people. But let’s see if I can play around with some other stereotypes. There might be something there!
Yekkov I liked it, nice writing. And my only regret is eating too much right now :)
Hey Neha…
The way you come up with Fiction Fragment is really amazing. Sometimes I wonder how great it would be to make a short story book out of it….
So reminiscent…. even now while working amma appa paati crib of how much I sleep. Only that now MS is being taken over by Aruna Sairams and NithyaShrees.
Oh Yes I was thinking of apithakuchalambaaal !!!
Such fun came.
-Shriram