News of my late grandfather’s village being marooned without food and drinking water during the floods in Kerala saddened me. I had spent many summer holidays in that village during my school days. It was a serene, laid back village far away from the hustle and bustle of the city life.
‘Mind your own business’ was not known to the villagers. There, people meddled in other people’s business enthusiastically. If a hand-pulled rickshaw entered a street, people sitting on their verandahs stuck out their necks to find out who was coming and to which house. “Looks like Lakshmi’s daughter is coming home for summer vacation,” or “Groom’s people are coming to discuss about the impending marriage of Geetha.” Neighbours loudly exchanged such news across the street unmindful of who all were in the conversation circuit.
Time stood still. There was nothing much to worry about. Their needs were limited. They had no ambition to conquer anything. Senior citizens and youngsters who did not migrate to big cities only lived in the village. Those were days when everything was bought and sold after a hard bargain. Pre-packed goods neatly arranged on the shelves were not in vogue. The weekly shandy attracted lot of buyers and sellers. Pumpkins, yams, banana leafs, etc., which would last a week were bought from the shandy. Other perishable vegetables were bought from vendors who brought them in baskets to the village daily.
All sorrows and celebrations were shared affairs. If there was a function at any one of the houses, everybody in the street was invited to have lunch. That way, for a few days in a month, houses in the street could avoid lighting their hearths. If there was a wedding in one house, preparations started a few days in advance. Sweets and savouries were prepared with the help of neighbours. When my grandparents became feeble, they sought the help of youngsters who were heading to the post office to post letters. When grandfather found it difficult to reach a clock on the wall, a neighbour climbed on a stool and wound up the spring of the wall clock every week.
Water was in abundance. There was a village pond. One could fetch water with a bucket and a small rope from a well at the backyard. After my grandfather’s death, his sons were in no mood to live in that village after getting used to the hurried life in cities and alas, the house was sold. I am sure the village will rise from the flood waters.
Email: mailpsubramanian@gmail.com