Perhaps the field was
fairly new even when when I was nearly ten! Today I’m nearer to seven times ten
and it’s nothing like it was way back then…
I reminisce about when we cousins
numbering a couple of dozen used to descend for summer holidays to roam free at
our grandparents’ home at Bangalore. We were among the 64 progeny of the
seventeen siblings who grew up in the gracious old bungalow! Enjoying the
aftermath of the April showers, a major delight was slipping through single
file or vaulting over the turnstile that separated Oorgaum House, popularly
known as OH, the sprawling 2 acre property of the P.G. D’Souzas, into New Field,
owned by the Jesuit Religious Congregation, founders of The St. Joseph’s Indian
Educational Institutions.
Grouping agewise perhaps, we’d eagerly engage
in the chatter of youngsters or teasing that ended in occasional scraps and
fights. Ducking one another in the stream I remember as part of the routine; so
too the tosses and bruises surely for the more adventurous.
With Cork trees and Kirk trees lining the
edge of the field alongside an open drain, the delicate white blooms the Cork
trees shed, were ideal to twine into garlands. The tangy fruit of the Kirk
trees was unique, entailing some endeavour with pods to be peeled and pinkish
hued tongue coating skins deseeded, before devouring! Another thrill was to
sail the empty shells (resembling boats) that dropped from the silk cotton
trees. Silk cotton was a major ingredient used to fill pillows those times. I
recollect that post a rainshower, we’d chase the tadpoles that slithered about the
drain in copious numbers. Quite easy to trap in our hankies, but extremely challenging
to manipulate the entire catch into Gran’s old jam bottles first filled with
drain water.
When tired of New Field, our cousinly camaraderie
continued within the ancestral home compound. Tapping rubber from the rubber
tree, winding and wrapping the liquid over a stone, then exulting if an
irregular shaped grimy ball actually bounced was a competitive experience!
Mingling with the poultry, the cows and goats, running away from vicious geese
and ‘gobbledy’ turkeys, following ‘Cow’ John, the attender of these delightful
specimens was a favourite pastime. Lunch time and it was a rush for ‘home made’
buttermilk at the hands of Mary aunty who’d be churning’ it in a mud pot with a
ladle secured with ropes; frothy, fresh and cool to dish out to thirsty kids. Thereafter it was off to Gran’s
kitchen to observe her work with an iron blower at the old wood fire, at which
we’d all try to have a ‘go’, raking up more ashes into the food being cooked, than
flames! How we presumed on her immense patience with us...
Tea time was treat time with a baker
turning up on the doorstep furiously ringing his bicycle bell to announce his
arrival with freshly baked bread, buns and delights like butter biscuits, cream
horns, Japanese cakes and butter beans packed neatly into a trunk fitted on the
carrier. Naturally with our numbers the entire load would be sold out at OH and
consumed in a jiffy!
Bathing at dusk was a unique experience too
with a ‘bhan’ or iron pot built into
the wall of the bathroom, half within and half without, stoked with firewood by
the attender without, and containing steaming hot water exuding an aroma that
is irreplaceable today. This itself before dinner and bedtime would ensure a
sleep of the babes! At times we’d be blown out of our wits though with the
croak of a frog keeping us company.
‘The family that prays together stays
together’ was an adage strictly followed at the ancestral home and daily the
clan would gather for the family rosary led by Gran and the elders, prior to
suppertime and maybe a ‘singsong’ around the piano, before we all spread out to
sleep; many opting for mattresses on the floor of the large hall to carry on
the ‘lights off’ chitchats with best cousins, ghost stories and fool around a
bit more till a happy dreamland claimed us…
No comments:
Post a Comment