NILAM HAS CLAIMED OUR RASALU

Right from my childhood, I am surrounded by trees.  My Dad built our house in a coconut grove and even after the house was built, we still had trees in our plot.  My parents also planted saplings of mango, sapota, guava, sweet-lime, neem, custard apple, several flower, ornamental and medicinal plants.  Even during peak summer, the temperature at home was a few degrees less than the temperature anywhere else in the city.  Over a period of time, the trees in our garden had grown so big, our house almost disappeared in their canopy and till a few months back, our house was not visible on Google Earth.  All that was seen was a dark patch in a concrete jungle.  But that is history.

Every monsoon, we have been losing trees.  While a few fall down, a few wither away due to water stagnation.  But the space would be soon taken over by another tree and the vacuum never felt.

Of all the trees at home, we were more attached to the mango trees. My Dad along with a neighbour, bought sapling of Rasalu variety from Vijaya Garden and a granduncle got us Hyder variety from a nursery in Kadiyam near Rajamundry.  My maternal uncle, a garden enthusiast, who frequently visited us, had dug a large pit in our garden and advised my parents to dump all the garden and kitchen waste into it, which would in turn become organic manure for our plants.  A mango seed thrown into the pit germinated into the third mango tree, which we named “Natu”. While my neighbour’s tree, which was planted on the very same day we planted ours, started producing fruits, none of our mango trees yielded for a long time, as there were too many trees in our garden and the sunlight was inadequate.  We almost lost the Rasalu, which was planted very close to our house, twice.  Once it dried and then slowly recovered and again during a monsoon, it almost fell down.  But, my Dad managed to lift it and tied it with an iron rod to a coconut tree and placed huge concrete blocks to support it.  Thankfully it survived. After a few years, the mango trees grew larger than the other trees and started yielding. The fruits from the three trees were different from each other in appearance, colour, smell and taste.  While Hyder mango could not be consumed or pickled in its raw form, the ripe fruit was too fibrous and very sweet.  The raw mangoes of Natu were very sweet and could not be used for pickles and the ripe fruit was not very sweet, though the peel looked very bright.  The best of the three was certainly Rasalu.  The baby mangoes, the raw mangoes and the fruits were all very tasty.  Through out summer, we made thokkudu pachadi (raw mango chutney) and mamidikai pappu (mango cooked in lentils) almost everyday and never got bored. The raw mangoes were very sour and we made varieties of pickles that last for the whole year. From mid-May onwards we had fruits.  The mangoes were oval in shape, measuring approximately 15 to 20 cms in size and weighing about half a kilogram.  The uniqueness of this fruit is that, when it ripens, it becomes juicy and pulpy and can never be cut or scooped.  Rasam means juice in Telugu and thus the variety has got its name based on this trait.

We distributed the raw mangoes to many relatives and Telugu speaking families in Chennai, who love to make delicious pickles with them.  Almost all our friends, relatives, colleagues, neighbours, maids and drivers working in the neighbourhood, hawkers and morning walkers passing through our street have all tasted our fruits.  My parents, particularly my Dad became very active during summer and enjoyed distributing mangoes.  He did it with the same passion he hand-plucked the mangoes.  Plucking and ripening mangoes needs lot of effort and expertise. My Dad indigenously made a special tool for plucking the mangoes.  He bought a long bamboo stick and tied an iron ring with a rice bag and a small knife. He reached the mangoes with the stick and when he cut the mangoes, they fell into the bag.  This was borrowed by our neighbours who also had mango trees in their garden.   My Dad once fell down while plucking mangoes and fractured his ribs.  Every season, he hurt himself in some form or the other.

In the last one year, we have been contemplating remodeling/developing the property and soon after the discussions started; Hyder fell down without any stimulus.  We had no option, but to axe it. Then we had to remove Natu, as we started construction on that side.  Though neighbours were sad that we were cutting down trees, they were all happy that we still had Rasalu in our garden.

My parents in fact wanted Rasalu also to be cut while we were axing down the other trees.  Though the reason they told us was that the tree was dangerously close to our old house, they had other reasons too.  My Dad was sad that none of us (my siblings and I) are capable of climbing trees and plucking mangoes. He didn’t like hiring “professionals” who are unprofessional in their work.  We in fact have only one guy in our locality, who knows to climb trees and pluck coconuts and mangoes.  He not only charges exorbitantly, but also demands that we share half the harvest with him.  He is not available when we need, but lands at our place when it is convenient for him.  He does not handle the mangoes carefully and drops many of them.  Such damaged mangoes are not suitable either for pickling or for ripening.  My Dad hates him literally and never likes to hire him.  He was worried that after him, we would end up hiring such “unprofessional” guys.  My Dad always plucked mangoes in a phased manner which ensured that there were fruits available through out the season. 

My mother had other worries.  She thought that, the mango trees would become a security problem, when they become too old or after them. She had read in newspaper of thieves stealing mangoes from the homes of aged couples.  She did not want to get into such a helpless situation.  It is a fact that some mischievous guys throw stones at the trees during the season. 

While my siblings left the decision of cutting trees to my parents, I opposed.  I tried to convince them that several squirrels, parrots, bats, insects, sparrows, cuckoos and crows depended on these trees and many relished eating the organically grown and ripened fruits.  But they were too scared and not convinced.  They were afraid that the tree would fall on the house and damage it.  I managed to convince my brother, who after a through inspection and in consultation with a civil engineer, requested my parents not to axe the tree. 

My parents agreed, but I think like pets, plants and trees too understand the moods and intentions of their masters.  On 31^st October 2012, cyclonic storm Nilam uprooted our Rasalu at around 7.15 p.m.  It was very miraculous.  The 65 feet tall tree, I don’t know how much it weighed, uprooted and fell on the road causing very little damage to our property.  The damage would have been immense, if it had fallen on our house, or on the studio behind, or on the house being constructed by my brother, but it had fallen in a totally safe side, crossing our compound, snapping electrical and telephone cables, and landing on a sapota tree in my neighbour’s garden.  There was no electrical supply and no vehicles parked on that stretch and the road was deserted.  Surprisingly, there was no noise as well 

The Police, the Chennai Corporation and the Electricity Department officials acted immediately and helped.  Within seconds of the tree falling down, all my neighbours landed with knives, axes and sickles and cleared way for walking.  Literally, every household had used mango leaves from our garden for their housewarming and every person had eaten our fruits.  

 

Though vehicular traffic and power were interrupted for more than 24 hours, nobody complained or even frowned; may be because of my Dad’s PR or because of their gratitude towards the tree.  Many in fact congratulated my parents for the safe tree fall! 

It’s gone, gone for ever.  Life will never be the same again. Our entire locality is mourning the loss.  My little nephew unable to see us sad has promised to buy an orchard when he grows up!

My parents are relieved. And all of us have started dreaming and planning to utilize the space.  I was very tempted to call my cousin in Rajamundry and request him to send a sapling of Rasalu, but my parents don’t want it after seeing my brothers' struggle to get the tree removed. “No more mango trees” is the pledge now. I have managed to collect a seedling from the dry leaves under the tree and planted in a corner, much against their wishes.    My sister is determined to keep the tree short and not let it grow more than five feet.  Even if it is allowed to grow, it will not yield the same quality fruits as mangoes are mono-embryonic and can be propagated only by grafting. 

Coincidentally, Nilam is another variety of mangoes!

Oh what a feeling!

Varsha, my niece (my eldest brother’s daughter) was born when we (I, another brother & sister) were still studying.  She was really cute, chubby, intelligent and very communicative.  We spent all our energies and time on her.  We would turn restless when she slept and waited near her bed till she woke up.  We would immediately lift her, the moment she stretched and moved here eyelids.  Many nights, after everyone at home slept, I used to peep into the room in which Varsha slept with her mother. (I am sure, my other family members too would have done this. I should thank my sister-in-law for not imposing restrictions of any kind.) Like all other children, she smiled while she was asleep.  Some nights, when I was lucky, she opened her eyes and spotted me staring at her standing near her cot in the dimly lit room. She acknowledged my presence by giggling and making funny noises and kicking her hands and legs very vigorously.  She loved playing “hide & seek” with me and to initiate me into the game, she covered her face with any material she could grab.  She loved the way I uttered “dobuchchi” a  phrase most Telugus utter while playing “hide & seek” with kids.

Soon after, I started working.  She knew my schedule and waited at the gate in the evenings, looking for me.  When staff members of an office in the neighbourhood walked past our house, she knew it was time for my arrival. She loved chocolate éclair lollypops, jujups (soft gel sugar candies) and Thirattipal (sweetened and condensed milk) and I brought any of these for her regularly.  Immediately on seeing me, she jumped with joy and made a sound similar to “tlick” – goodies in her parlance.  On days I reached empty handed or pretended to have come empty handed, she would mercilessly throw my slippers and bag out and tried to push me out.  It was fun to watch her do this. 

She started speaking very early, though only we (the family members) could understand her unique language.  One evening, as usual, she stood near the gate and as it drizzled, she told a passerby, “Chachichi alo, vaana, goggu le” (Charusree raaledhu, vaana kurusthondi, godugu ledhu – meaning Charusree is yet to return, its raining and she has not carried an umbrella).  She was less than a year old, but her concern and expression impressed us.

Another evening, as I reached home, instead of running towards me as she usually did, Varsha ran inside. There was a lot of noise from the kitchen and my mother yelled at her for spilling milk and water and messing up the kitchen.  Ignoring everything, Varsha managed to reach a vessel containing snacks my mother made that afternoon, brought a handful and stuffed my mouth enthusiastically uttering “tlick”.  We were all so amused at her thoughtfulness.

Time flies.  Varsha is now a young lady.  She has graduated recently and has started working.  With the same enthusiasm she exhibited as a tiny tot, Varsha is now giving us treats.  Last weekend, she took me to a picture.  The show was great.  But more heartening is her gesture.  It is a great feeling.  Thank you Varsha!

ATITHI DEVO BHAVA

Recently I watched the Kannada film “Bettada Jeeva” on Television.  The movie made based on Jnanapith Awardee K.Shivaram Karant’s novel was very refreshing.  The screenplay, direction, cinematography, the locales and the performance of all the actors added value to the story.

The story set in early 1940’s is about a freedom activist escaping arrest, taking shelter in the house of an elderly couple in a remote hilly village, away from civilization. The hosts make his stay in their house an unforgettable experience.  We (I and my family members) traveled back in time as we watched the film. My parents, reminisced “good old times” when people were warm and generous and had leisure to pamper guests – known and unknown.

Even during my childhood, on a few occasions, we (my parents and siblings) spent our vacations in our relatives’ homes.  We bathed in the common bathroom (which comprised of just four walls, door and a roof were also considered a luxury) ate in the verandah (the menu was decided by the lady of the house) and slept on the terrace gazing at the sky.  There was a lot of space and leisure and absolutely no restrictions.  We played, chatted or just read books and never got tired or bored. We too have received a lot of guests at home.  The present scene is different.  Drastic changes in lifestyle have taken place in the last two decades; primarily due to IT revolution, economic reforms and massive urbanization.  Strangers are no longer welcome in any homes due to security reasons and there is a significant change in the attitude towards guests. People are so busy with their own lives, accommodating guests is no longer enjoyable. Holidaying is now associated with resorts and tourist spots and visiting relatives happens only when there is an occasion or an agenda.  Guests now look for five star comforts and are reluctant to adjust.     

My sister, who was present at home that evening, shared the essence of a discourse she recently attended at Chinmaya Mission with us.  The orator questioned the audience as to what according to them was “Hindu culture”?  There were many answers to this question; while one said the culture is synonymous to Indian languages, another said it was the attire; someone said it is the way the elders are treated and another the rituals and so on and so forth.  After listening to these ideas, the speaker shared her experience.

The speaker was once traveling in Central India and stayed with a large family.  She observed that, late in the night after the dinner was over, the womenfolk were busy cooking.  She questioned the host as to why they were cooking after everybody had eaten their meal. The host replied that they always kept food ready for four-five unexpected guests and that, they were replenishing food.  She concluded her speech stating that the hallmark of Hinduism is feeding hungry guests; Atithi devo bhava – meaning “guest is God”.

My sister has a reason for quoting this to me.  While I don’t dispute with the concept of “Atithi devo bhava”, I get into frequent arguments with my mother on the quantity of food cooked at home.  My mother was born and raised in a village.  Paddy and lentils were cultivated in the land owned by her family.  Food was cooked on firewood and the process was very cumbersome in the absence of gadgets, cooking gas and electricity and hence food was cooked only once in a day and that too in large quantities.  The same food was served during lunch, dinner and carried forward for breakfast the next day morning.  Food was cooked not only for the family members, but for the shepherd, domestic help and dhobi.  On certain days in the week, few students from the gurukulam (a residential school where Vedas were taught) had food in their house. (The responsibility of feeding poor students who studied at the gurukulam was shared by all villagers in turns).  Extra food was cooked for unexpected guests too. There was no question of wastage, as the leftover was fed to the cattle. 

Coming to the present, we have almost all gadgets in our kitchen.  Firewood and charcoal vanished without trace.  Cooking an elaborate meal takes not more than an hour.  Though only three of us live in our house, my mother wants to cook at least for five or six.  She says it is for unexpected guests.  In the recent past, we have not had any guests, particularly unexpected guests at home.  My argument is when food can now be cooked quickly, why should it be cooked in advance?  Neither our domestic help nor the beggars in our locality are keen to take the leftover food. We don’t have cattle or dogs to be fed.  We end up either eating the excess food (I feel this is the main reason for my obesity) or recycling.   Disposing of waste food is a serious problem in cities.  I am yet to convince my mother.