From the Memory Box: Ponnozhukum Thodu – the stream where gold flows

Somewhere in the deep recesses of the human brain there are little memory boxes. The past is stored in them. Occasionally an invisible key opens them spontaneously. It could be a sound, a smell, a picture, a face that triggers the process.

Yesterday I thought of Ponnozhukum Thodu. Ponnozhukum means ‘(where) gold flows’ and thodu is stream. What turned on the kaleidoscope into the past was a photograph on the Kallivayalil Family website (http://www.kallivayalil.com/). That is Ammachi’s (mother’s) family. (See Oru Desathinte Amma.)

The picture shows a scene from the Ponnozhukum Thodu – rice fields, cattle grazing in the distance, an ancient structure that is called ‘madom’ in which the ground floor is storage space and above that is an old Kerala style hall.

Ammachi’s ancestral house, known as Konduparambil, is east facing, on a hillock. The view from there is beautiful. About a hundred meters from the house is the road which Ichachan (See: Remembering grandfather) had opened long ago to the public. After that are the rice fields.

A causeway links the road to the private bathing ghat with a thatched canopy at the thodu. Again a stretch of paddy fields. Beyond them were the hills, greenish to start with, slowly fading into a hazy blue in the distance and merging with the sky.

Summer holidays were customarily spent at mother’s house. That was the time for play and pranks and frolicking in the sparkling stream for hours on end. Some of the smooth pebbles and sand in the brook glitter like gold. That was how it got its name.

Later on, when I grew up, I came to know that the gleam was caused by manganese content. Sad end to a childhood myth. But it still remains Ponnozhukum Thodu, gold or not.

Thirty odd years back I took my two elder children to visit Emmachi (that is what we used to call grandmother). They wanted to bathe in the brook about which I had told them so much. Emmachi gave us thorth (native towels) and Pears Soap. For some reason it was always Pears Soap at mother’s house.

There was a warning as well from Emmachi: ‘Don’t let them spend too much time in the stream like you did. They are not used to this water.’ True. Bangalore where they were studying had no Ponnozhukum Thodu.

That was the last time I went to the stream. And the last time I saw Emmachi.

Ends.

Also see: Gold color chips and a golden hearted Lady

Gold color chips and a golden hearted Lady

Sumitha’s ‘Kitchen Wonders’ (http://kitchenwonders.blogspot.com/) is a good Blog. I came across an illustrated recipe on it for jackfruit mousse (an exotic idea, I must say). One photo, that of jackfruit cut lengthwise, reminded me of the chips which Eammachi, my maternal grandmother, used to make from this giant sized fruit.

Those familiar with Kerala are likely to have tasted jackfruit chips. They are available in the market. Most of them are hard, yellow and brownish pieces shaped without any cosmetic sense and packed in plastic (forget about food grade) pouches. A person with a discerning palate may not try the market version again.

Eammachi’s jackfruit chips were of the same color that you see in the ‘Kitchen Wonders’ picture, even-sized, and would crumble in the mouth. And they didn’t have a trace of oil. I believe this was achieved by using a fresh chatti (an earthen cooking basin) for each batch. The frying was always even too. How that was achieved without thermostat control was a wonder. The raw material was carefully sourced from selected trees. Only fruits of a particular maturity from varikka (see: Jackfruit, the jumbo) species were used.

Eammachi used to make a whole range of chips and preserves and halwas (my favorite was papaya halwa) and savories with the same care and perfection. The store room in the ara would be full of such goodies when the grandchildren and great grandchildren visited her during holidays.

A remarkable thing about Emmachi was that she would remember each one’s preference, even in curries. But after Ichachan (my maternal grandfather) died, she became a bit disoriented and used to get things mixed up. As a result one would get something that was somebody else’s favorite. We used to eat whatever was served without any protest. What mattered most was the grand old lady’s satisfaction in watching us eat well.

Ichachan was the uncrowned (though he used to wear a turban) king of that area. Eammachi could have lived like a queen but she chose to restrict her domain to the area north of the nalukettu. One very rarely saw her in the southern portion of the large house.

The last time I saw Eammachi was when I dropped in while driving my children back to school in Bangalore after their holidays. As we were leaving she asked ‘Will I see you again?’ I told her I would visit her after a month.

When we reached Bangalore, a telegram (no mobiles those days) was waiting. It carried the sad news of Eammachi’s demise and I caught the next flight back. Even as I write this, my eyes are full.

Ends.

Also see:

Remembering grandfather

Oru Desathinte Amma.

Jackfruit, the jumbo

Giant fruits from small tree