K.V Chandrashekara Menon.....(Thampi chetan)

That's my grandfather. He passed away a few months back.

sometime in 1983:

Thampi chetan as my grandfather was fondly called by relatives and close friends, would take his first born grand daughter ( Ammu- that's me) who was then 2.5 years or so old into his arms and show her the frogs croaking in the 'kaana' just outside their house at Panampilly Nagar. He did this everyday. It was almost a ritual. One with which he could shut the toddler from screaming and yelling her lungs out. He did this solely at the request of his wife ( dear old Thangamani- real name: Sharada) who at that time every morning, was busy grinding 'thenga chamandeey' and steaming idlis for breakfast. This he did- for she was busy and the child ( her eldest daughter's child) was excruciatingly intolerable in the mornings ( only - I hope).

Ammu would wake up in the morning, but she would never open her eyes. This first thing she would say is, 'Ammummaaaaa paaaaaal' ( translate: Grandma Milkkkkkk). Only once the milk in the big steel glass was brought to her would she sit up on the bed and open her eyes. Gulping down the milk, twisting her hair with her fingers, glass in one hand, hair panicking in the other, Ammu started her day, this way, everyday, for a little more than a year. Then she would put in her index finger deep into the steel glass and scoop as much of the un-dissolved sugar that remained at the bottom and put the sugar sodden finger into her mouth. Then she would start crying, because usually by then the grand mother is back in the kitchen and the child is alone. She needs the attention. Thats when the grandfather comes by to show her the frogs.

This calms her a bit.

My grandfather, was a businessman. He also wrote. He was an author in Malayalam. I have his books somewhere in my house, packed up. Everyday after he would come back home from work, he would take me onto his lap and tell me stories. They weren't from any story book. He just spun one each day for me.
Ammu is my pet name. A name that's mine at home. And in the stories that he told me, Ammu was the lead. She was the captain of the ship, the pilot of the air balloon, the heroine. She was never the princess, or the queen in his stories. She was a person with a role that was functional and solid. A role that demanded brains and valour both together. Ammu's co- stars were her cousins from her father's side. Anu and Deepu ( short for Anoop and Dileep). When Ammu was the captain of the ship Anu would usually be the cook and Deepu in charge of the sails. They were the 'famous three' so-to-speak. They had an adventurous life. They battled it out in strong seas, against heavy winds and Ammu often saved the trio and ship from topsy-turvy-ing into the ocean.
When the trio would set off in their hot air- balloon, they would traverse across the forests of Kerala and the house of Panampilly Nagar, often the balloon getting caught up on a tall tall coconut tree. And who else could save them from plummeting into malady but dear little Ammu!

These stories, were spun maybe on his way home from work, or maybe just the moment while I was sitting on my appoopan's lap. No matter how he made them, those stories was our relationship. It was our foundation.
Ammu exists even now. In that brick-concrete house in Panampilly Nagar, where she lived a couple of years. She still goes out into the ocean braving it all. She flies through the skies too.



Sometime between 1991 and 1994:

Ammu is between 10 and 14 years. She is a full fledged Gulfy. And like all of them do, she would visit PNagar home during the summer. She still remembers them, those days.
The heat of M.G Road and the frequent shopping with her mother. What she looked forward to the most was her trips to PaiCo. At first the one on Mg Road was alluring. But then the one on Broadway was even better. The collection to Ammu at the time was satisfying. She hadn't seen so many books hunched up together like this before. The smell of books pleases her. Makes her hungry. This craving to read.
One such day, as her mother was paying up the bill at the Paico cash counter, she saw a random book sticking out of the shelf. She ran to it. Rebecca of Sunny Brook Farm- it said. It was a thick book but the price label didn't match up to the volume. Her mother permitted her to buy it.

She started reading the book just after she got home. And it was completed a few days later.
Those days, her family would leave her alone to read while they went visiting old friends, relatives and so on.
She was inspired to write a poem about a portrait and the word 'nape' stuck to the pencil tips.
She was also inspired to write something about the cows, a reminder to the 'pashooo park' ( Cow park) in the neighbourhood, where as a child she was taken to by her grandfather.

She was also inspired by the red bricks that formed columns to her grandfather's car porch as well as the smell of the earth when it rained. All this she gathered, mixed it with an element of Rebecca, and just like lively, flamboyant Becky, so did Ammu conjure up poems and essays in the airy bedroom on the first floor of her granfather's house.

Around this time, she had also managed to read through the entire descriptive volumes of Ramayana and Mahabharatha ( courtesy: her mother's younger sister). She devoured every word of it and when her grandfather would return home at 4 in the afternoon, she would sit in front of him and tell him the story.
It almost felt like she was returning him the favour. One that he did for her years ago. but no. No favor this. It was the first column stemming out of their foundation. The one they laid out years ago. He for her.


Sometime in 2006:

Appoopan is getting old. He is no longer in the house in Panampilly Nagar. He is in Muvatupuzha. He sits in the verandah every morning, first to read his morning paper, in the afternoons staring at the chembarathee and late evenings simply listening to the radio before he goes to bed. He remembers the stories. He still reads though his vision is getting blurry.


My appoopan passed away one morning. They say it was a mild heart attack. It was just around the time I had a terrible fight with my then husband and I decided to get a divorce. It was just around the time when I was wishing the old Ammu would resurface. It was just around the time I was wondering how to put the news across to my grandfather who found me the suitable boy. It was then that the phone rang, and they said that he passed away with his hand clasped to his chest.
I guess he did it for my sake. To ease the burden off me.

I keep on going.....

Its a quiet morning, I can see snow fallen on my window ledge, and all over the ground. Its white, spread like a cotton bedsheet. I saw snow for the first time a few weeks ago. My first real touch of it was only then. I love the way the snow makes a soft yet tough crunchy sound while I walk over it in my snow boots.
I love waking up in the morning, to make myself a cup of coffee and watch the morning sky. I love to feel the day unfolding. When I turn on my laptop and check my email. Its simply the feeling that I wait for the minute my eyes open from sleep.
It's afternoon. And I love the thought of cooking lunch. The chopping of onions, the slicing of tomatoes, removing the rough ginger skin and slicing and dicing the garlic. I love the way the garlic pods cling together in bunches, the way they sit around in my fridge.
I love the smell of onions saute-ing in oil. The smell that spreads all around in my kitchen, which wanders off into my living room just as it pleases. Then there is the spices. Corriander, turmeric, red chilly, fennel and curry...all mingling with the onions and tomies.

I love the evening cuppa. The time when its time to wind up, to slow down, to sit back on your couch and check the last bit of the day's mails. The time to sift through the shelves for a movie to watch again. The time to light a ciggerette and watch the sun set. The time to just lie on the couch and think, to let your mind wander.
I love it all. even through a period when there is no hope, even when there is much hope, even when your heart feels it is carrying too much, even when I am gay and happy...just happy to touch the snow, to be here and breathe it all in. I simply love it.Don't you?