My Onam

I hope Mahabali visited my home today and was happy to see me living a contended life. I had cleaned every corner of the home yesterday and hid the mop and vacuum cleaner lest he is offended by their sight.

My girl decorated the entrance with athapoovu [floral decoration]. Only that our floral decoration has just four colours [traditionally on Onam day the floral carpet should have at least 10 different coloured flowers] flowers picked from my balcony pots.

In fact, I've never seen the fanfare associated with the harvest festival, such as Pullikali [tiger dance], Vallomkalli [boat race], kummaattikali [masked dance form] or even the sales and discounts in shopping centres that rejuvenate the tiny God's own country. And, of course, miss the public holiday.

Being a Hyderabadi and now a Dubaiite, my Onam memories begin with the shopping my parents went on a week earlier to the festival. Mom would make one delicacy per day, so that on the Big Day we had a platter with at least six varieties of savouries to distribute to our neighbhourhood homes, in return for what they gave us on Ugadi and Diwali. 

On Onam morning, my brother and I woke up to the succulent aroma. Breakfast was bread to save time. Our home seemed more bright that day, literally. The sunrays through the open doors and windows were the same though. Possibly, it was the presence of dad in the kitchen. He did all the chopping and cleaning up. Now, am glad, the ritual, has part-extended after his retirement with him helping mom in doing the dishes daily. Guess, that's why it's said, 'Life just begins after retirement'.

And, yes, we had our family friends over for the Onam sadhya. After the sumptuous meal on banana leaves, we kids got together to watch a movie, dads played cards and moms huddled together talking. They left only late in the evening, and mom would pack them dinner as well. There would still be a lot left in the fridge for the next two days, and my brother and I would throw up a fuss - tired of eating veggies.

Now, my daughter throws up a fuss right on Onam day, when I ask her to leave the leaf clean. And now that she is a 12-year-old, and enjoys school, I have to plead with her to take a day off from school. The savouries are all bought for lack of time and inclination. Friends for Onam sadhya join us at lunch time and return back to work. Those who cannot afford to take a longer lunch break, come for 'Dinner Sadhya'. And then, I am waiting for them to leave at the earliest because I need to go to work at 5.30am next morning.

Dad and daughter all set for the Onam Sadhya

It's a watered-down Onam I have now. I wonder if my daughter would even take the effort to do as much as me when she has a family of her own.

I would love to be part of Onam celebration in Kerala once, especially for my child, to show her what a traditional festival feels like.

Also read: A fun piece on Onam, written earlier http://bit.ly/1ubNXz4

Of a soiled nightie, beef fry and a couple

One of my friend’s from Dubai rang me up while I was in India, earlier this year.  “Hey, even I’m holidaying here. Why don’t we catch up?”

So we took to the lanes of the South Indian state of Kerala, driving north. Monsoon was unleashing its fury. [Yet, I haven’t got enough off it. How I miss The Rains!] 

 

Afternoon 2pm seems like dusk...Monsoon at its best

Well, as we pulled alongside a few hours later, to tend to our grumbling tummies, we ran into one of my acquaintances.

He invited us to his home, which was nearby. I obliged and we followed him.

[I will not describe his home, which I leave to my friend’s comments below. Suffice to say the family was at its hospitable best. Hot-steaming tea, equally deliciously-splattering banana fritters, hot-off-the-grill toast and beef fry and finger-licking melt-in-your mouth dark halwa generously served by his ever-smiling wife peppered with his non-stop chatter. The couple’s two well-behaved pre-teens, did the greetings part with aplomb and vanished leaving their coffee-brown dachshund to keep a watch on us. I always had a liking to the couple. My opinion was only reinforced.]

Well, my friend and her husband also made good guests.

No sooner than the car pulled inside their gate than the couple stepped out and looking up at the roof of the building, said in unison, “Beautiful! Who’s the architect?” The host replied with pride that it was his dad and that the house was almost 30 years old. “Old is gold,” said my friend’s husband.

“What garden!” exclaimed my lady friend turning to her husband, “Look at the variety of crotons. Amazing!” The husband tapping the host’s arm, said, “Excellent, there’s a lot of work that goes into this, I can see!” All the while his eyes were panning the area. “The land adjacent is also yours?” The host nodded a ‘yes’. “And the open area I can see behind?”

Now the host stood to explain. Pointing his finger in all four directions, he said, “From there until there is completely mine. My dad had bought it long back…”

“Wow! You are a billionaire,” exclaimed my lady friend.

In the meanwhile, the host’s wife had joined us and was unsuccessfully trying to invite us in. At last after more statistics gathering and even more exclamations on their property, we walked in.

“Wow! Beautifully done! Teakwood furniture are the best, isn’t it?” The wife commented to the husband and the couple walked around the rooms uninvited. “Real spacious!” “I loved the kitchen… The dining hall is the best…you guys are lucky…” and so went their commentary on the interiors.

“You are an amazing cook!” she showered on the hostess, denying a second helping of the beef fry.

Saying our goodbyes, my friend added, “Let’s take a group picture,” and pulled the hostess by her side. Wrapping her arm around her shoulders she posed.

“So nice, meeting you’ll,” said the husband.

“Come again,” said the hostess.

“Oh! You don’t have to invite us. Next time, we are here, we will make sure we drop in. 

And I need proper meal. You cook so well…”

“…and this ambience. Your home reflects nature’s beauty…” added the husband.

**************

Finally, we proceeded on our journey.

Inside the car:  My lady friend asked her husband, “Why did you eat that beef. It was floating in oil.”

“They would have felt bad…” clarified her husband.

“Don’t forget it’s your body… What kind of people…Oh God! How can they live in such a shabby home…”

“Orthodox. Traditionalists…” added her husband.

“Tell me. What was that odour. Gosh, I couldn’t eat a morsel, seeing her nightie. It had all the masalas that she used for cooking on it…

“Not at all our types…”

“I held my breath while taking the picture beside her…”