A Place on the Road to Somewhere

Something brought fond memories of this little village in which I spent my growing up years, as a girl and a teen. A place called “PoomKavu“.Nothing spectacular or picturesque about its geography , just a place on your road to somewhere else…..but for me everything else

We came to stay at Poomkavu in the year 1984 in a rented two room kitchen house with both front and backyard.There was a cashew tree in the front yard and a few bushes of hibiscus along with a poinsettia.
The house itself was small, with no porch or sit- out but just a couple of concreted steps outside the doors of both rooms which faced the road. At the backside, adjacent to the kitchen ,there was a shed too which we utilized as a play area and also by our house owner for storing wood and other such things.

It was a 10 minutes walk to my alma mater , St Mary’s Residential School.I was in Grade 5 and Lincey in Grade 1. Linta was just two years old.

The very first friend I had there was Anita .She was my neighbour and was in Grade 4. My relation with Anita and her family was not just that of a friend. She was my confidante , comrade –in – naughtiness, my soul sister . All those memories bring a warm comfortable feeling ….just like snuggling under a blanket on a cold winter morning and not wanting to arise …….

Our morning procession to school started from her house. Me and Lincey used to go to her house and the chaos there …..In all those years there was hardly any day when they were ready before we reached. Anita and her sister Aleena, then her cousins Jomon and later Gregory getting ready to be off to school, her aunt Laisa and uncle Georgekutty ..off to college ..all in that morning hours. We would be impatiently waiting in their parlour …..someone would be plaiting hair….other packing tiffin..Anita’s grandmother complaining of them not getting up early …..and finally somehow around 9:20 we used to rush off pulling our siblings along.

All our girlish tattle and discussions happened on the way to school and back .From teachers to classmates , stories of movies , neighborhood gossips, who loves whom , both at school and church ..and so on.
On weekends we would be visiting each others house and we would play together . It was house-house mostly,transforming lungi’s into sarees or draping mom’s old sarees (when she is in a benevolent mood). Someone would be the man of the house,wearing a lungi (as a lungi) ,going for shopping.Sometimes I used to climb the window ,which would be our coconut tree,with my lungi folded up to bring down the imaginary coconuts…..Then it would be travelling in a bus with one of us as driver and other conductor issuing tickets and making someone get up and offer their seat, because a lady with a baby has boarded and needs to be seated.Or else,hospital with doctor and patients with any ailments,ranging from fever to pregnancy.
Now when I look back I feel amazed,how even the tiniest conversation, or deed which is seemingly insignificant to an adult, is absorbed and emulated by children.We did then ….and our kids do it still,maybe in a different way .

Anita’s father was in Kuwait and during his yearly visits he used to bring dresses for us along with foreign erasers and pencils and chocolates which was my first taste of luxuries provided from an alien land.I used to listen to all her stories about her Dad’s office and Kuwait with awe. They started the construction of their huge double storeyed mansion which became our play area when the construction work was not happening.

I did my first act of dare.....jumping down to a heap of fine sand ,first from the first floor and then from the second floor never realizing the danger .Anita sprained her leg in the process and I do not remember whether we did confess the cause to her mother.

It was a second family to me where I had all the love and freedom and all those moments which I spend there, would remain with me forever . I do not recollect every minute detail, but all I know is, those years with Anita has left a mark on me …it is just like this bump on your forehead, having collided with someone you love, when you both bend down together to pick up something from the floor at the same time…….It wouldn’t go ….and every time you see it ,you cannot help smiling .

This is just one of my bumps….my marks…which I got from Poomkavu...