childhood in parumala

Ive been reading a lot about kerala and it occurs to me that many experiences are similar.For instance every vacation saw us board the kerala mail(that's what it was called) and we got off at tiruvella(i think its spelt that way).From the station we took a taxi to the backwaters and waited till a valam(long snake boat) came along .We had to be very careful how we got in,taking care to balance right or fall into the river.My mother went into depression as soon as she got into the train and by the time we reached the boat her depression was well established.My sisters cribbed about leaving the city and having to spend the best part of their lives in a god forsaken island.My father tried hard to balance all this but as we neared home he didn't bother with any of us.The boatman carried a long bamboo pole which he used as an oar and when we reached the opposite bank he would jump off the boat and drag it,people and all up the bank,and we all jumped off and landed into soft river mud which promptly came up to the ankles.I loved it and the rest of the family hated it.Our house was set a little off the river bank so that meant a bit of a trudge up the drive with muddy feet.The house itself was a rectangle,with a veranda running all around.The veranda was at least two feet high and there was always a Kindi(a small jar with a spout ) full of water.We were expected to wash out feet before entering the house.The house itself was on many levels.In the centre of the house was a huge room that served as a store room or a modern cellar.Right in the middle of that room was another room on a higher level which had this huge wooden door and wooden steps leading up to it.This was where the more interesting things were stored,the ripe jack fruit,the juicy mangoes,the fresh farm eggs and goodies that were out of reach of us kids.God forbid we dared venture there,but the trick was to hang around until some adult got there and then if one sweetly offered to help,they tended to overlook the fact that I was a child and there i was being given a peep into that world of good food.Foodie that I am,it was the first thing i looked out for in the house.In the early morning the milk was churned and the butter always stored in earthen pots hung from the rafters.It was out of reach of children but was tantalisingly attractive.Not that I cared too much for butter.

At night this lovely house took on a different personality.Thanks to the absence of electricity,there were a million lamps lit with oil.If one wanted to go outside the torch was always a bunch of palm leaves that were lit and used as flares.The shadows of a million lamps cast long shadows on the walls.If one is a child this can be really scary.When night fell the silence was deafening and the only sound were those of crickets and mice.Tiny scurrying feet could be heard all night.Mysterious laughter came from my grandmothers room(she had died a few years after I was born).Considering she wasn't around,the adults exchanged glances and continued to do what ever they did,but she was having the last laugh.Her spirit never left that house,she wandered the nights there especially in the store room and if one coconut was missing then the house would shudder and mourn with her anger.The floorboards creaked every time we walked and the sound can conjure up a variety of fears.On Sundays the church service fuelled my imagination.Priest in black wandered up and down the aisle of the parumala church which housed the remains of a well known bishop who was supposed to grant all wishes.Today when I think back it all seems so foolish but to a child dwarfed by those many priest swinging their incense cradles and chanting in mournfully voices,it was really the fear of god as i saw it.Today that house is just a memory.Modern day progress has rendered the boatman and his wears and transport a thing of the past and to me there are no more visits there,these are childhood memories.