by Hariharan
I started to count holes on the wall – large and small. That one – that large one must be from a big shell piece. Other small ones may be from the bullet shots - or may be from small but dangerous shell pieces. My Thambi* died because of this small shell piece, so small and terrifying. Window pane was violently removed from its place so a clear view of outside is clearly visible from here. But only a little bit of light coming from it. I helplessly tried to avoid the vision of the blood stained walls – and miserably failed, every time I tried to do so. Because it’s our building--the only and last shelter available for Amma and me. We left home during the 2001 battle.
I recall a meadow, green garden and appaa’s whisper. My heart deserved green, yellow, red, - oh the garden with every type of colors in it- now there’s only a wilted tree stands there. That was hell – we visited our home during the temporary ceasefire. The garden where we played together turned into a barren land with plenty of landmines buried in it. We used to bury seeds there. As memories began to flow, my body felt a sudden chillness-- a quiver of chillness, too sweet to bear- just like the memories. And as I think of my lost past, desire swells within me. I’m stirred by those long-ago voices, green garden, rushing wind scented with the Jasmine fragrance. This is more than my heart could abide.
I can almost hear appaa’s voice, familiar and close-so real. For an instance I mistake the wind against my ear for his gentle loving goodnight kiss. Last night, I turned to seek his collar in the darkness, beyond my fear I felt courage at his closeness. I sobbed badly and ammaa comforted me with a thevaram*. In the morning I saw her Saree, which she kept carefully under the pile of other things, was wrapped all over my body in order to protect me from the cold wind.
Memories about my Appaa, Puppy, Thambi, and his butterflies; oh, those greeny days. Like in a dream, images are moving in my head. It’s very funny you know, Appaa used to say that the rain is the tear of fairies – he told that they are crying because of extreme delight; The delight that came from seeing children playing happily and praying to the gods regularly. Thambi always counter him with the question of thunder – why is thunder. Appaa often changed the subject soon after this question. Now it’s raining. Do fairies cry seeing me helpless, lonely and caged? Who knows? I felt an urge to cry…
Clouds are forming in the sky. It is really chilling. Light fades and dies out. Again I move to the window, inhaling the December air. It tasted of rain. I am flooded with sweet shifting memories. I lean against the sill of the broken window. The view of the outside is not clear; maybe because of my dizziness. I recalled the green mist, the distant and lost green…
Amma has gone to the co-operative shop. It is the only way to get food items since all the shops in the peninsula went out of stock. I felt a great fear at the sudden realization of the fact that I’m alone in this building. Amma forgot to take the umbrella with her. It stands there like an old man. It belonged to daddy. Amma carefully protected it and carried everywhere we ran. It’s raining. I’m feeling hungry. This morning the boiled manioc was not enough for my stomach. Amma ate three FICTION pieces of it with scrapped coconut. Manioc is the only food item we can afford. She gave the rest of it to me. With heavy feeling of hungry, I ate all of them. She looked at me with a pitying and sad look in her eyes. I felt guilt. That was a humiliating moment. I’m still guilty at that – Amma may feel terribly hungry.
Amma wanted me to come with her to the co-operative shop but I refused. She wanted me to help her carrying the things from the co-operative shop. I carefully avoided being seen with her. She doesn’t have any ornaments to wear. She wears a torn sari. And above all, she sobs to get things at the shop. She lost her ‘Displaced’ certificate. So the manager refused to give out the goods for free of charge. She went on sobbing, telling the crowd about the miserable life we lead now. Gradually Amma is turning into a beggar. I watched all of these with humiliation. I wanted to escape from there. It was like a suffocating hell. Co-operatives are the only hope. Last week the co-operative also went out-of stock – so we had to pass the week with mangoes as the morning breakfast. We drank sugarless plain tea with a dash of jaggery. At first I refused to take them, I demanded Thosai, Idly, and Uppumaa. Amma hit me with the thin poovarasu cane until I agreed to eat the mangoes. I wept a lot and she tried to calm me down with her soothing words. But I continued to insist that I’m not satisfied with the mangoes. She slapped herself on her head violently. Crying--Calling out all the god names…. I watched her with fear. I cried loudly to stop her from dying. She sat at the corner and sobbed all that night. I was fast asleep. That night I dreamed of those old days. In my dream, came my home with its glorious colorful garden, where we used to play while smelling the seductive smell of the Thosai Amma cooks in the kitchen. Making Thosai is a festival indeed. The celebrations would begin as early as one day before the Cooking-Thosai-Day; Grinding-Mixing-Blending. We all watch the process eagerly hearing the stories about Moon, Jungle and everything we love. Amma is really an expert on relating stories. Her voice is very dreamy and effectively fits when it comes to enactment of the well-loved stories. In the next day morning, we place ourselves in the kitchen, listening to the ‘zoiiiing’ sound of the Thosai batter being poured on the hot pan. The scent of ghee fills the air – Thambi busies himself in making facemasks in the cooked Thosais. I the elder am roaming there and here as if I’m engaged with some important task. To be precise, it must be three years since the Last time I saw Thosai.
I heard people describing us as nuisances and they even called Amma another cockroach in their area. This humiliation is constantly taking place. Yesterday the tenant came and shouted that the rent should be paid immediately. His filthy remarks angered even me. Amma pleaded him to be patience. She literally prayed him in a huskier tone, may be fearing others-or even me could hear her. He continued to insist constantly and eventually went away. I ran away to the backyard fearing that Amma is going do something-something that makes me fear. When I returned to the building to see her sat on the dark corner with an empty look in her eyes. I noticed her ears miss earrings-the last piece of gold she had.
Stains, bloodstains everywhere, I can’t escape seeing them. I wanted to sleep, but it’s thundering. I want Amma, Bed Sheet and a song to sleep. Nowadays, Amma is telling me that she forgot all the lyrics and stories. Her voice- a voice we all loved once-become noticeably hard. I recalled her sweet voice, which sung us bed-time rhymes and thevarams*. I recalled her tender patting to make us sleep and closed my eyes.
With the eyes closed I heard the wind blow. It sings. In which language does it sing? Who knows? I woke up to the voice of somebody crying nearby. It’s very common. Amma told me to not to open the door unless it’s her. It’s not raining now. There is a thin ray of light coming into the darkness through the hole in the roof. Sun is visible right now I thought, soon Amma will come. It’s really very long since she went outside. The smell of rainwater and sweat coming into my nose and I wanted to escape – oh these blood stained walls.
I opened the door to get some fresh air and light. Water dropping veempu tree, standing there green but lonely. The rain refreshed the green all around this house. It’s a pleasure to see such a sight. I wanted to walk in that grass to get a chilly walk. But there is beware-of-mines sign. I stood there expecting Amma. When it rains look for the rainbow-Ammamma use to say. I looked at the sky searching the rainbow. I saw clouds forming again. There was no rainbow. The street is also deserted. I’m beginning to fear, Amma, Amma – won’t you come back? BOOMB Must be claymore because the sound is very noisy. I shuddered at the fact that I’m alone in this building. I’m hearing to the intense firing. My legs are rooted and I’m able to sense my body trembling with fear. Footsteps, Footsteps everywhere. Almost everybody is carrying a gun. I closed my eyes. Amma….
Appaa – Father
Ammaa – Mother
Ammamma – Grandmother
Thambi – younger brother
Thevaram – Prayer
Thosai –also Dosa, Thosai, an expensive breakfast, taking up much of the time to prepare .
Uppumaa – Another special breakfast made out of semolina. Considered expensive compared with the typical Jaffna breakfast.
Poovarasu – A tree which gives the most terrifying cane.
[28. AUGUST.2006—2.30amJaffna]
Thanks to Nethra-April 2007 (Journal of ICES, Colombo)
I started to count holes on the wall – large and small. That one – that large one must be from a big shell piece. Other small ones may be from the bullet shots - or may be from small but dangerous shell pieces. My Thambi* died because of this small shell piece, so small and terrifying. Window pane was violently removed from its place so a clear view of outside is clearly visible from here. But only a little bit of light coming from it. I helplessly tried to avoid the vision of the blood stained walls – and miserably failed, every time I tried to do so. Because it’s our building--the only and last shelter available for Amma and me. We left home during the 2001 battle.
I recall a meadow, green garden and appaa’s whisper. My heart deserved green, yellow, red, - oh the garden with every type of colors in it- now there’s only a wilted tree stands there. That was hell – we visited our home during the temporary ceasefire. The garden where we played together turned into a barren land with plenty of landmines buried in it. We used to bury seeds there. As memories began to flow, my body felt a sudden chillness-- a quiver of chillness, too sweet to bear- just like the memories. And as I think of my lost past, desire swells within me. I’m stirred by those long-ago voices, green garden, rushing wind scented with the Jasmine fragrance. This is more than my heart could abide.
I can almost hear appaa’s voice, familiar and close-so real. For an instance I mistake the wind against my ear for his gentle loving goodnight kiss. Last night, I turned to seek his collar in the darkness, beyond my fear I felt courage at his closeness. I sobbed badly and ammaa comforted me with a thevaram*. In the morning I saw her Saree, which she kept carefully under the pile of other things, was wrapped all over my body in order to protect me from the cold wind.
Memories about my Appaa, Puppy, Thambi, and his butterflies; oh, those greeny days. Like in a dream, images are moving in my head. It’s very funny you know, Appaa used to say that the rain is the tear of fairies – he told that they are crying because of extreme delight; The delight that came from seeing children playing happily and praying to the gods regularly. Thambi always counter him with the question of thunder – why is thunder. Appaa often changed the subject soon after this question. Now it’s raining. Do fairies cry seeing me helpless, lonely and caged? Who knows? I felt an urge to cry…
Clouds are forming in the sky. It is really chilling. Light fades and dies out. Again I move to the window, inhaling the December air. It tasted of rain. I am flooded with sweet shifting memories. I lean against the sill of the broken window. The view of the outside is not clear; maybe because of my dizziness. I recalled the green mist, the distant and lost green…
Amma has gone to the co-operative shop. It is the only way to get food items since all the shops in the peninsula went out of stock. I felt a great fear at the sudden realization of the fact that I’m alone in this building. Amma forgot to take the umbrella with her. It stands there like an old man. It belonged to daddy. Amma carefully protected it and carried everywhere we ran. It’s raining. I’m feeling hungry. This morning the boiled manioc was not enough for my stomach. Amma ate three FICTION pieces of it with scrapped coconut. Manioc is the only food item we can afford. She gave the rest of it to me. With heavy feeling of hungry, I ate all of them. She looked at me with a pitying and sad look in her eyes. I felt guilt. That was a humiliating moment. I’m still guilty at that – Amma may feel terribly hungry.
Amma wanted me to come with her to the co-operative shop but I refused. She wanted me to help her carrying the things from the co-operative shop. I carefully avoided being seen with her. She doesn’t have any ornaments to wear. She wears a torn sari. And above all, she sobs to get things at the shop. She lost her ‘Displaced’ certificate. So the manager refused to give out the goods for free of charge. She went on sobbing, telling the crowd about the miserable life we lead now. Gradually Amma is turning into a beggar. I watched all of these with humiliation. I wanted to escape from there. It was like a suffocating hell. Co-operatives are the only hope. Last week the co-operative also went out-of stock – so we had to pass the week with mangoes as the morning breakfast. We drank sugarless plain tea with a dash of jaggery. At first I refused to take them, I demanded Thosai, Idly, and Uppumaa. Amma hit me with the thin poovarasu cane until I agreed to eat the mangoes. I wept a lot and she tried to calm me down with her soothing words. But I continued to insist that I’m not satisfied with the mangoes. She slapped herself on her head violently. Crying--Calling out all the god names…. I watched her with fear. I cried loudly to stop her from dying. She sat at the corner and sobbed all that night. I was fast asleep. That night I dreamed of those old days. In my dream, came my home with its glorious colorful garden, where we used to play while smelling the seductive smell of the Thosai Amma cooks in the kitchen. Making Thosai is a festival indeed. The celebrations would begin as early as one day before the Cooking-Thosai-Day; Grinding-Mixing-Blending. We all watch the process eagerly hearing the stories about Moon, Jungle and everything we love. Amma is really an expert on relating stories. Her voice is very dreamy and effectively fits when it comes to enactment of the well-loved stories. In the next day morning, we place ourselves in the kitchen, listening to the ‘zoiiiing’ sound of the Thosai batter being poured on the hot pan. The scent of ghee fills the air – Thambi busies himself in making facemasks in the cooked Thosais. I the elder am roaming there and here as if I’m engaged with some important task. To be precise, it must be three years since the Last time I saw Thosai.
I heard people describing us as nuisances and they even called Amma another cockroach in their area. This humiliation is constantly taking place. Yesterday the tenant came and shouted that the rent should be paid immediately. His filthy remarks angered even me. Amma pleaded him to be patience. She literally prayed him in a huskier tone, may be fearing others-or even me could hear her. He continued to insist constantly and eventually went away. I ran away to the backyard fearing that Amma is going do something-something that makes me fear. When I returned to the building to see her sat on the dark corner with an empty look in her eyes. I noticed her ears miss earrings-the last piece of gold she had.
Stains, bloodstains everywhere, I can’t escape seeing them. I wanted to sleep, but it’s thundering. I want Amma, Bed Sheet and a song to sleep. Nowadays, Amma is telling me that she forgot all the lyrics and stories. Her voice- a voice we all loved once-become noticeably hard. I recalled her sweet voice, which sung us bed-time rhymes and thevarams*. I recalled her tender patting to make us sleep and closed my eyes.
With the eyes closed I heard the wind blow. It sings. In which language does it sing? Who knows? I woke up to the voice of somebody crying nearby. It’s very common. Amma told me to not to open the door unless it’s her. It’s not raining now. There is a thin ray of light coming into the darkness through the hole in the roof. Sun is visible right now I thought, soon Amma will come. It’s really very long since she went outside. The smell of rainwater and sweat coming into my nose and I wanted to escape – oh these blood stained walls.
I opened the door to get some fresh air and light. Water dropping veempu tree, standing there green but lonely. The rain refreshed the green all around this house. It’s a pleasure to see such a sight. I wanted to walk in that grass to get a chilly walk. But there is beware-of-mines sign. I stood there expecting Amma. When it rains look for the rainbow-Ammamma use to say. I looked at the sky searching the rainbow. I saw clouds forming again. There was no rainbow. The street is also deserted. I’m beginning to fear, Amma, Amma – won’t you come back? BOOMB Must be claymore because the sound is very noisy. I shuddered at the fact that I’m alone in this building. I’m hearing to the intense firing. My legs are rooted and I’m able to sense my body trembling with fear. Footsteps, Footsteps everywhere. Almost everybody is carrying a gun. I closed my eyes. Amma….
Appaa – Father
Ammaa – Mother
Ammamma – Grandmother
Thambi – younger brother
Thevaram – Prayer
Thosai –also Dosa, Thosai, an expensive breakfast, taking up much of the time to prepare .
Uppumaa – Another special breakfast made out of semolina. Considered expensive compared with the typical Jaffna breakfast.
Poovarasu – A tree which gives the most terrifying cane.
[28. AUGUST.2006—2.30amJaffna]
Thanks to Nethra-April 2007 (Journal of ICES, Colombo)
0 உரையாடல்:
Post a Comment