I was so excited when I heard we were going to Ramapuram for the school holidays. I snuck a small pocket knife and sunglasses into my shorts, planning to scare my grandmother. I imagined myself jumping out and scaring her like a robber.
There was only one bus from Ernakulam to Ramapuram each day, the KMS bus that went to Mundakkayam. My father knew the bald-headed driver and the tall, thin conductor very well. I loved sitting in the front seat, enjoying the view and watching the driver. But the driver spotted the knife and sunglasses in my pocket and told my mother. My plan was ruined.
The bus left from under the Ernakulam South overpass. The journey took about two and a half hours. The driver drove fast, and there were very few stops. The bus stop in Ramapuram was near a large banyan tree in front of the Sree Rama temple. My father would often buy something from the tea shop nearby. Then we would walk about two kilometers to Kondad. My father would carry a big bag with vegetables and other groceries. He started working when he was eighteen, as a clerk in the railway office. Every month, he would give a portion of his salary to my grandmother, who handled the finances.
When I woke up in the morning, my grandmother would give me a piece of ripe mango leaf to brush my teeth. Then, I would split a twig and use it to clean my tongue. We would go to the open field behind the house to wash. I had to fetch water from the well. I didn't like going, so my grandfather dug a pit, placed two logs across it, and covered it with woven palm leaves. Flies would buzz around while I sat there for toilet. Since there was no roof, I had to carry an umbrella when it rained. I would bathe in a pond near Kokkarini kavu. Sometimes, my aunt Sumachithay would come to bathe me. I loved when she bathed me. She would roll small balls of rice for me to eat. She was studying for her post-graduation in chemistry at Maharaja's College. She was very intelligent and could dance and sing old Malayalam film songs.
After my bath, my grandmother would milk the cow, Nandini, and give me fresh milk. She would also keep some butter for me. My grandmother would offer daily prayers to Sree Durga in the southern temple. She believed that the goddess Annapurna resided in the heart of the paddy. She told me a story about a woman who was cursed and died after vomiting blood on the tenth day of entering the temple premises during her menstrual cycle. My grandmother also had many stories about Afan, a man who gets possessed by the goddess. She said that the goddess would speak through him and once promised to give the family a gold coin every day. But they forgot to take it once, and after that, they never received it again. However, the goddess assured them that her blessings would always be with the family.
My grandmother's name was Nangaiyya. She knew Sanskrit and astrology. My grandfather was a priest in a Sastha temple nearby. During the rainy season, we would collect rainwater in a large pot and a copper vessel. It was pleasant to sit inside the house and watch the rain. I would listen to the sound of rain on the palm leaves, the croaking of frogs, and the calls of the osprey. Initially, I was scared of the osprey's cry, but my aunt told me it was just a bird. When my aunt was having her periods, she would sit on a mat and I shouldn't touch her. If I did, she would say I had to go back to the pond and bathe.
For lunch, we sometimes had kanji (rice porridge) and steamed tapioca. After eating, I had to wash my hands, or my grandmother would scold me. My great-grandmother, Nangeli, was over ninety years old. I was fascinated by her shriveled breasts. She always chanted mantras while counting her rudraksha beads. She lived to be ninety-eight years old. She would always complain to my father about her eyesight and hearing. But my grandmother said that she could hear everything, even when she was chanting.
Once, during my tenth-grade vacation, I stayed at the ancestral home. Lekha and Mallika, our neighbors, would come to keep my grandparents company. They were both studying for their pre-degree. I loved going to the temple with them in the evenings. Katri and Yohannan, who were older, would come to help with the work in the fields. My father would give them money when he left.
Later, our ancestral property was sold, and the house was demolished. My great-grandmother, grandmother, grandfather, father, and Afan are all gone now. Only memories remain. And in those memories, they live on.
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