Great-grand-mother and her ancestral home!

Childhood memories are strong. Though this essay goes back to the 1970s, the images have not faded one bit. It was a trip to see great-grand-mother in her village!

Mudikondan is a tiny hamlet, a dot in the Tamil Nadu map, not far from the Nagapatnam coast. So nondescript is the place, that as per accounts, it once had a railway station of its own, that was later dismantled because there was no traffic!

It was here that great-grand-mother lived by herself. If she was old, she stayed in a home that was older. Shrouded by the cobwebs of time, it went back a few centuries, perhaps more.

I recall the street where great-grand-mother lived. It was dusty, with houses on either side, like modern-day row-houses. The house was old-styled. Once inside, the main hall had a quadrangle that opened to the sky and lined with pillars. The quadrangle was spacious, with ample room for a full-blown tree. For my Mumbai, city-grown eyes, it was a novelty- to have a tree inside a house!

Photographs crammed the interior wall, leaving not an inch of space! Everyone was there- grand-fathers and mothers, grand-uncles and aunts, down to the latest generation. People in their earlier avatars, set in the 1930s and 40s looked young and fashionable! Each photograph was amusing- either the serious expression or the quaint dress.

The main hall had a swing that creaked as you foot-pedaled it. The door that led to the kitchen was shallow. Many an unwary person got a bump on the head, if he did not duck at the right time!

An old “almirah” was filled with artefacts including one giant, elephant-replica. I fussed about till the elephant was brought out from the closet. The elephant’s foot was known to have a hair-line fracture! My father had broken it when he was a child! Everything was preserved through the decades- the story as well as the elephant.

Great-grand-mother was bent with age. She was active and spritely on her feet. Her skin was crinkly and the elbows jutted out. Her eyes were alert as she peered through the spectacles. Her toothless laughter was infectious- it shook her entire frame! Soon, more relatives gathered. The house was filled with the hub-hub of conversation and the gurgle of laughter. We were in time for the annual village festival.

After great-grand-mother’s time, the house fell into disuse and was sold off. We never went back again. Time is relentless, much like the ocean’s waves. As the tide comes in, the wave sweeps over the elaborate sand-castle built with care. The people, their voices and stories become one with the ocean. Mudikondan remains a memory.