THE CHURNING OF THE OCEAN OF MY LIFE – LIFE GOES ON.

A SUDDEN FALL AND THE ONLY LADDER WAS HONESTY OF OUR FATHER USING WHICH WE CLIMBED TO HEIGHTS

 

CHAPTER 4                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

 

As I hailed from a village, I would be doing injustice if I did not share a few pleasant experiences of village life.

 

               MY MOTHER – MY GODDESS

We lived a very luxurious life till 1969. When my father was walking on the road, even big landlords bowed in respect and walked aside. Our school teachers used to meet my father almost every week to explain our progress. In the SC colony, he was a demi-god.

 

I do not remember having worn a dress that was not neatly ironed. (Later, I wore worn-out dresses).

 

Every day, my mother used to mix rice with chutney, dal or sambar. She mixed it with lots of ghee and served it with her own hand.  We used to fight that she gave more to him and less to me etc., When she was clearing her hand of the dal and ghee etc., on the edges of the plate to take out the paste-like food (used to taste well) , we used to fight to get it. My sisters and I used to get more. I was studying well, no?

 

 OUR LIVES BEFORE POVERTY STRUCK US.

I never liked rice that was cooked earlier. I always wanted hot food.  My mother used to serve me hot food, sharing the morning/night food with others. They used to object. My mother was consoling them, saying that I would fast if food was not served hot to me. I used to turn my empty plate and leave if cold food was about to be served to me. A lot pampered child, till she died.

 

There was one festival called "Atla Tadde" in AP. My mother used to wake up early, make rice, and chutney with tur dal. She used to serve it with ghee and later curd rice. By six o’clock in the morning, we used to eat and run to play with friends, each with their own. Here too the third brother used to quarrel with someone and come home injured. Even now, he is doing the same on Face Book. In the injury part, his clever and cunning wife will look after.

 

Sankranti was a big festival in AP. My mother used to do "Bommala Koluvu", arranging various mud, plastic idols, toys in an order on a stage temporarily erected with wooden planks, chairs, tables etc., adorned with clean bed sheets and other decorations. Ladies used to attend a "Perantam", a get-together, and fruits and other items like sweets used to be distributed to them by my sisters. For this, my younger brother and I used to help a lot. Why only this? Even sweeping the floor, cleaning utensils, lighting the coal oven, lighting the water oven etc. were our duties, my third brother used to say. Or else a big fight used to ensue, wherein he vowed to see our blood, in the coming Kurukshetra war, like Bheemasena took vows on his wife.

 

Every Sankranti, me and my younger brother used to hold the hands of our sisters and go from house to house to invite the ladies, They used to adorn the forehead of the ladies with KumKum and we used to recite, " My sisters arranged Bommala Koluvu. My mother asked you to come as early as possible. Do not fail to come" (whenever, I think of this scene, my eyes fill with tears. When I totally collapsed in life, as I had to hear from them, "he is a brute, a criminal, arrogant, slave to bad habits. He got his due in life. If he stays in our road, our prestige is going for a toss etc., " I smiled in frustration. By then tears had evaporated in my eyes. My mother conveyed this to me and advised me to go far away. I was affected by a severe psychological disorder. I was not in the know of good from bad. I was acting weirdly. If my wife had not held my hand, then this hand would not have been able to write this story. If I have another birth, I want to be her mother and serve her.

I slipped into melancholy again.

So, on one Sankranti day, we started our duty. But in the house of Natti Kishtayya, we faced a hurdle. He was sitting in the corridor and relaxing. His wife was not seen. Even when we saw him on the road, we were so afraid as he had a big, round moustache. We thought of going back. But he saw us. He called us and asked us why we came. We did not know his wife's name. We did not knowing how to tell him to call his wife. My brother suggested we may ask, "Is your wife inside?" I said no, as I was older. Then,I picked up courage and asked, "Is your mother home?", thinking mother was a more respectable word than wife. He laughed loudly and called her. "Hey! Ammaa! Come out! Our doctors' sons want to talk to you," she came out, heard the story, smiled and mildly rebuked him for bullying children. But I observed, looking back, that both were amused.

The next day, we were going to school. Some gentlemen and a few vagabonds who sit in front of the temple called us and congratulated us’ You taught Natti Kishtayya a lesson. I was bewildered and thought they also might be afraid of him, like us.

How pleasant is this experience? My younger one and I had so many pleasant experiences then. He never let go of my hand when we came out. Villagers used to call us Rama and Lakshmana.

 

(With such background, when I was deep in financial troubles and unable to pay rent he offered his new house freely but advised me not to reveal anywhere that I was his brother, as that would dent his image in public. Even during the housewarming ceremony, he politely told me to sit with the cooking staff so that his wife's rich relations would think that I was one among them.

 

 

But I lived with a strong heart. Brutus is an honourable man!)

Many are the experiences, but it is not apt to hold you all back.

 

 

In the next chapter it is all about ladders, snakes and me!