HOME.

Going back in time is impervious. But remembrance is not. Materialism, your community, good old melodies can rekindle them. In my case, a place did.

Kadayanallur, TN, India.

After a tiring journey from Sivakasi to Rajapalayam and then to Kadayanallur in a state vehicle, I was much dehydrated. There wasn't much of perspiration unlike Chennai.But, the sun contributed its role by burning my skin. I was standing in the shade of the black guard spread above me as my dad called for an auto. With less negotiation we proceeded. Ofcourse I wasn't much into the trip leaving back my homly comforts. My dad was the one hyperventilated about the trip, as he showed us the streets he rolled, strolled and got old in. With an occasional smile I looked over. The auto journey was not hard with streets less crowded often interrupted by a sole human.

As we entered the vassal (verandah) cold breeze rubs my skin from no where and I could sense the feeling of refreshment already. Okay, maybe the place was better than home. But still I was feeling blue. It was time for evening tea. We barged into a neighbour's house. It's not awkward as it sounds since relatives only live next door those days. As I went in, following the footsteps of amma, still not comfy with the surrounding, a cheerful lady walked towards us with a broad smile. She took us directly into the kitchen, the gesture I loved. She was my athai and she cooks well :P Everyone seemed to be excited about our visit except me. I missed a connection. Tea was served.

In olden days the thinnai was more preferred than beds, to sleep. Knowing it aggrevated my disowning sense as sleeping on a flat stone floored verandah was close to impossible for me. With no choice and a stern look from dad, I obliged with an allowance of a blanket and a mattress. As we all slounched in my appa's perippa, grandpa started to spin the old tales of truth. He was old, but his remembrance was not. As he went on...

He smiled when he spoke about paati.

He tempered up.

He broke down.

He was anxious.

He patted appa.

He wished me.

He recalled functions.

He spoke with his voice low.

Incidents by incidents, he was sculpturing my history. Something I should have known. MY family history. It was not on laned roads but muddy trails. It was not on fancy garments but traditional dhotis. It was not on multi storeyed apartments but on pillared palaces. It was not about being glued to gadgets but having a circled gathering of caring people. And it was most definitely not on pizzas and burgers but on fish kulambu and varattu kari.

Slowly the voices I heard faded. I wasn't sleeping but realising how life was and how it had become. I had a bunch of people to love me even when I hated their place. They never cared about how tough I thought my life was, how envious people around me are, how I have to work so hard to live upto people’s expectations, how I worry about my role in the society which I’m going to play as a grown up, how this and how that. They really din’t care, they were happy. They showed me that, maybe I shouldn’t care much too. I was happy, those two days.

Kadayanallur, Tamil Nadu.

Even though I get lost in the fast moving world I am, where petrol prices soar, people are competitive and congested I can pause, rewind and go back to a place, that's really my HOME.

Loved by blood,

Swetha Ananthan.