A rain tree of memories

The post SUMMER BEAUTY in Raji's Ramblings reminded me of a similar tree we had at Olavipe. There is nothing much to write about it except that it was there, on the western ‘muttam’ (courtyard) and it is a part of my childhood memories.

Presented below for identification is the photo of a rain tree (Samanea saman, also known as monkeypod) I took in Chennai. Raji’s post has some better images including a beautiful one of its flower.

As children we didn’t know the name of the tree. We called it ‘thanal maram’, meaning shade tree. And shade it did give. The sprawling canopy effectively blocked the sun rays except a few that filtered through. But it didn’t obstruct the west wind because the branching started at a height of 20 feet or so. Probably the lower branches were pruned when the tree was young.

Sometimes we used to climb the tree despite the warning that the branches were not very strong. To my knowledge however, no one has ever fallen off the tree. Anyway, for children scrambling up a low mango tree was definitely better than climbing the rain tree. (See: Mango Memories)

Those days there were carpenter families traditionally attached to us. They were free to work for others also. They would leave a set of tools at our place and come over when there was no employment elsewhere. They would find a job to do, some repair work, or make furniture whether it was required or not, or carve out a toy boat or the like.

The carpenters loved working under the shade of the rain tree instead of using the ‘thadippura’ (wood store) which was the place meant for them. The cool shade of the tree and the breeze that blew in from the Olavipe Lake were irresistible.

Among them, Paramu was the one we liked to have around most. He was small made, but fair and handsome and a fine person. And he had a never ending stream of stories. The elders used to joke that for every hour of work he would talk for two hours. But it was worth having him there. In his work he was a perfectionist.

The only people who disliked the rain tree were perhaps the women who swept the courtyard every morning. I believe the reason was that the pieces of dry flowers that fall to the ground get embedded in the sand. It was a difficult to clear them away.

Today there is a Prior mango tree near the spot where the rain tree once stood so proudly in full bloom. See the photo by Dr. Sanjay Parva below:

The wall like structure that you see on the right is the back of the Cool stones

Click on photos to enlarge.

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

Memories: Passion Week, half a century back

Try to get up as late as possible to face the Good Friday of stringent fasting. Everyone who has received First Holy Communion has to observe it, till the age of 60. Just one meal, lunch, on the day. No meat or fish for the whole of Lent.

One saving factor was the INRI Appam from the previous night. Now, this Appam is made from a special recipe, only on Maundy Thursday, for the solemn dinner. The head of the house would cut the Appam after prayers and hand over a piece to each member of the family, symbolic of the Last Supper.

The INRI Appam is light brown bread made from roasted rice flour and urad dal and served with a sweet sauce made from coconut milk and jagerry, thick and brown. In Western Christianity Holy Cross Buns are used in its place.

Several of these Appams would be made. Those to be served on the table, distributed to the nearby Christian families, and given to the church would have crosses on them. These were made with strips from the coconut leaves blessed and distributed on Palm Sunday. (Incidentally, every adult male member of the Parayil Family was given a full tender coconut frond, almost similar to the one for the priest, while the others had to be satisfied with one or two individual leaves.)

On Good Friday morning one was permitted to have ‘limited’ quantities of Appam and sauce. The limit was flexible, but nowhere near full breakfast. Strangely, one invariably felt hungrier on Good Friday than on other mornings. The leftover Appams were cut into thin square pieces, crisp fried and stored. That was a favorite and the containers emptied fast.

No mass on Good Fridays. Long sessions of Bible reading, till lunch. There used to be one curry everyone looked forward to. The main ingredient was tender cashew kernels. The servants were experts at removing the kernels unbroken from the soft green nuts. The recipe also included drumsticks and other vegetables. Delicious!

Then came the most tedious part of the day – the long church service in the afternoon. The ritual included swallowing ‘bitter juice’, a concoction made from some leaves. Nothing could be more bitter. That is symbolic of what the soldiers gave Jesus to quench His thirst. But then nothing lasts forever. Back home, an early dinner of ‘limited’ quantity of Appam and sauce, and off to bed.

Holy Saturday was normally quiet, uneventful, except for us, in 1959. Appan. died that evening. The priests wore colorful vestments instead of the traditional black for the funeral, because it was held on Easter Sunday.

Ends.

Kerala Architecture: Nalukettu for modern times

Site specific nalukettu houses for modern living can be certainly designed by a competent architect. Nalukettu, in its original concept, was not meant as stand alone living quarters. It was usually part of a large house and meant for the day use of women and children.


Old ‘tharavads’ were large structures with several rooms. Each family unit (in the case of joint families) had its own quarters (usually a room or two) which were not self contained. The ladies had to necessarily come to the nalukettu for access to the kitchen and other connected facilities. This led to better interaction between the members of the larger family group.


A bit of nostalgia here. In my childhood, when Appan. was in the house the evening prayers were in the prayer room. Otherwise Ammachi (see Oru Desathinte Amma.) and the children said them in the nalukettu.


Shortly after that was dinner. Sometimes Ammachi gave the small children food in the nalukettu. She would roll rice and curries into small balls and mouth feed each one. Food never tasted better and we ended up eating more than we would have on the dining table. Often Ammachi would tell us stories, or sing.


One advantage of nalukettu was that the ladies could keep an eye on what was happening in the‘puras’ (outhouses, each for a specific purpose, like ‘urappura’ for pounding rice) and the kitchen. They could also see the gatehouses and visitors coming in.


Today’s needs are different of course. I suppose a good architect would, before starting work on a house design, study the living habits and requirements of the family concerned. Mr. Laurie Baker, the famous architect (see Laurie Baker - A Tribute.) once told me that his professor used to accept about six assignments a year for designing homes. He would spend considerable time at the clients' residence to study their lifestyle.


I assume that the per square foot construction cost of nalukettu would not be any more than that of other types of houses. But the land value of the ‘nadumuttam’ (inner courtyard) also has to be taken into account while estimating the total outlay.


I am putting off other observations on nalukettu to another post which I plan to do with a rough layman’s design (I am no architect); otherwise this post would become too long. I started writing this as a response to comments on my writings on Kerala architecture. Some of them are listed below:
Kerala architecture: Verandas, corridors of a nalukettu house

Kerala architecture: Mansion of the Marquises

Kerala architecture – ‘Ara’ in heritage homes

Kerala architecture: More on nalukettu
Kerala Architecture: Interiors
Kerala Architecture: Nalukettu, ettukettu, pathinarukettu
Kerala Architecture: Prayer room of a heritage home
Kerala heritage home: grill-work
Kerala Architecture - Olavipe Heritage Home
Lions that guard Thekkanattu Parayil
The House That Grandfather Built.
Interior of a heritage home.
OLAVIPE: Heritage Home of Thekkanattu Parayil Tharakans.

Kerala Architecture: Another Parayil heritage home

Ends.

Kerala architecture – ‘Ara’ in heritage homes

Ara means an enclosed storage area, often used for threshed grain – paddy in the Kerala context. Landlords who owned and cultivated large areas would have such storehouses near the fields and also an in-house granary to stock un-husked rice for home consumption.

In many old houses the ara faces the entrance as you can see form the photo from our ancestral home shown below. (The decorations are because the picture was taken during the engagement ceremony of my niece Tanya)

This shot by KO Isaac is from the eastern gatehouse. The door of the gatehouse, the entrance to the main building and the door to the ara (in the background) are all in one line. It has something to do with thachusastram (vasthu which means the traditional science of architecture.)

The door opens to what we call aravathukkal pura, but more commonly known as arappura in Kerala. It is a corridor which has doors to the left and the right leading to the other parts of the house and the entrance to the ara (see photo by me below). It is again in line with the front door.

Our ara has two compartments. The smaller one is for nurukkari or table rice and the other for nediyari or coarse rice for the house staff. Now both are empty and we buy rice! Ten years back I stopped paddy cultivation which we were doing regularly, because the Communists imported some outsiders to plant red flags in our fields. They did this alleging that we were leaving our fields fallow!

There is a true anecdote to this. The party men who came in a truck and started a procession called our workers who were transplanting rice saplings in another field to join them. One woman stood up and answered, "Comrades, flags don’t produce rice.” Remarkable, I must say.

Coming back to ara, the entire structure including the floor is in wood. The reason for this is that paddy might spoil if it gets into contact with lime or cement. The ara is about three feet above the floor level of the rest of the house. I suppose this is to prevent permeation of moisture.

Traditionally, ara was taboo to women. They could stand in the arappura and carry away the grain measured out by men, but never step inside the ara!

Ends.

Also see: Un-ploughed lies my land

Kerala architecture: More on nalukettu

Kerala Architecture - Olavipe Heritage Home

Interiors

Cool stones

This is one of the best nooks in our ancestral home at Olavipe. The bench-like structures are called kuliru kallu which literally means cool stone. And they are really cool. Sit there with a book and a mug of beer perhaps. Or just look out and enjoy the breeze on the trees around and the birds (not so many these days). Or have a mat spread on it and take a nap. Never a mattress. The mat would be made of grass (pullu paya) or methapaya made from the leaves of Kaitha (Pandanus fascicularis).

I love the cool stones in the cooler weather, meaning, while it rains. May be change from beer to something stronger. Put away the book and watch the rainfall. Listen to the sound of raindrops on the tile roof, on the leaves. Or on the courtyard where the white sand suddenly turns darker as it gets wet. The initial raindrops are absorbed quickly.

Then pools start forming on the courtyard. They indicate uneven spread of the sand, which is to be rectified later. If too much water collects close to the house a worker comes out in the rain and makes small channels for runoff. One feels like going out and getting wet. But that would be considered undignified.

One cannot always do what one likes to, so sit back and think of the childhood days. No dignity to worry about. Just rush into the rain and get thoroughly drenched. That used to be great. Then the call comes – That’s enough, you’ll get sick, come inside immediately. Well, all good things must come to an end. So, in you go. Tried a couple of times going to the far end of the courtyard so that there would be a genuine excuse of not having heard the call. But that didn’t work. A servant would come with the message.

The cool stone has a functional advantage as well. Sitting there one can deal with all sorts of visitors, wanted or unwanted. The close ones of course would come and sit with you. Those who deserve a seat would be provided a chair. Then there are others who would stand, perhaps leaning against a pillar. The leaning part is not really liked; sometimes straighten the man with a question like ‘is something wrong with your back?’ No offence meant or taken. The workers would normally stand outside on the courtyard.

All these can be done even if one is sitting on the veranda on a chair. But there is a difference when one is on the cool stone. The prayer is always that no one should come to disturb the bliss. But wishes often don’t come true.

Ends.

Photos: AT. Click to enlarge.

Also see: Memories: Shoeless on suburban train.

From the past

Some readers have showed particular interest in memories and stories about the days gone by. One I liked best among the comments on the blog and by email is from Ezee123 quoted here:

‘Nice to read your blog and the lovely details of the old times.
I have always been saying that people should write about what life was earlier sot hat the present generation could understand how life was before "today".’ Ezee123

I am listing below links to some of the posts, which fall within that category so that it will be easy for those who are interested, to locate them:

Appan.

Oru Desathinte Amma.

Medicine men of Olavipe

Chakram

Douglas DC 3, The Dakota

Some Clubs of India

Lions that guard Thekkanattu Parayil

Death of a Priest Turned Layman.

Laurie Baker - A Tribute.

Mango Memories

OLAVIPE: Heritage Home of Thekkanattu Parayil Tharakans.

A vexatious litigant.

A unique prayer.

A judgement.

World War II: MAN WHO ARRESTED ROMMEL.

Some memories of WW II, Cochin and the 1940s.

Memories: Soochi Varkey Chettan to Ravi - the Tailors of Olavipe.

Memories: Shoeless on suburban train.

Alligator Tails/Tales/Tiles.

Three predictions.

Komana Ka

The Bangalore that was, 60 years ago!

Across the black water

A Kerala Tharavad.

Going to school in a feudal era - Part 1.

An antique washing machine.

Dowsing

Please click on the titles to read.

Photo of the model of a 'churulu vallom' by Karthiki.
Click on image to enlarge.

The Bangalore Quiz - Answers.

I have published the answers on the original post. Please click on the title to view it.
No one claimed all correct answers.

The Bangalore that was, 60 years ago!

These photographs of Bangalore were taken in 1946. Can you identify the buildings /locations? Try. Ask your friends as well.

Add these questions to the quiz: 60 years back,
What was the name of MG Road? South Parade.
Bangalore was part of which State? Mysore State.
Bangalore had how many cars? Not less than 656 cars.
A couple of clues are in the pictures.

I'll come back with the answers after three days.

Town Hall area

MG Road. Higginbothams on the left

Brigade Road.

Mayo Hall

This is where the IT hub is - Hosur Road!

Oriental Building (LIC)
View from MG Road towards St. Marks Road.

The car number is BAN 656.

(Photos provided by Narayan Thampi, Cochin.)

Today, May 5, 2008, I received the following email

"hi,
perhaps you did not know but you have on
your blog copies of my pictures taken by me in 1946
they are
brigade road
mayo hall
oriental building
car ban 656
surely the gentlemanly thing to do is to give me credit
for them as Ronnie has done on his Bangalore web site.
He is the only one I gave an OK to although I have no
problem with you posting them if suitable credit is given
All the best to you . Its great to see how Bangalore
has prospered
Antony Loach
Vancouver BC"

My failure to give proper credit is highly regretted.
Abraham Tharakan.

Also see:

Bangalore Memories: Cricket, hockey and the traged...

Gunboat Jack, a Bangalore hero of the past

Hockey days in Bangalore

No Red Sails in the Sunset

After shifting from Kerala to Chennai, whenever possible, in the evenings I stroll down to the beach, which is about a hundred meters from the house. After walking for half an hour or so on the road parallel to the sea, I sit on the curb, watching the scene around.

It’s almost the same every day – the Bay of Bengal stretching out to the horizon, an occasional fishing boat, ships waiting at the outer for their turn to berth, their lights switched on at dusk, the grim, colorless sky, strong breeze blowing in over the waves with the smell of salt. It’s depressing. There is some thing missing.

Occasionally I wonder whether Louis Armstrong, Bing Crosby, Nat ‘King’ Cole and all those other great singers who have recorded the beautiful piece ‘Red sails in the sunset, way out on the sea’ could have rendered the song with the same involvement if they were looking at a gloomy scene like this one when they sang.

Today I realized what was wrong. There is no sun dipping into the ‘kala pani’ (black waters). People from the West Coast are used to that sight. Take out the fireball from the following frame of sunset over Olavipe Lake and what do you have?



Watching dusk fall on the East Coast can be unnerving. Try sunrise for a change? Well, I get up too late for that. It's not the same anyway.