The Summer of '82 - Chapter 8

A few days, i stayed at my father’s home, the little house he was born in. He was the ninth of ten children. He had six brothers and three sisters. His eldest brother’s son was as old as my father and his son was of my age, which made me elder to him in relation but younger to him in age. The relations were something I could never cope with. I would fumble when I was supposed to greet somebody, even if he was my chacha, or my tau, or my bua. So I ended up calling them uncle and aunty. It was the easisest way out of the complicated relation naming thing. My father’s family was huge. My grandmother (achchamma) sat me on her lap and took a huge photograph, when my parents had gotten married. The frame was huge and there were many many people in it. I counted eighty three people in the photograph. She pointed her frail weak finger on a small little boy sitting in the corner. ‘You know, he is your cousin, Pappan. He just had a son last week. You are an uncle!’ her frail voice squealed in delight.

‘But I am just eight years old! How can I be an uncle?’

‘Well, seems like you have no choice.’ She kept the photo away and leaned on the wall behind her as she tore a dried weed and placed it in her mouth and began chewing it. ‘In our days, we got married very young. I was married to your father when I was twelve, and he was thirty three. He used to travel most of the time.’

‘That is so sad, you must have been so lonely!’ I said.

‘Not really’ she looked through her cataract eyes onto the manglore tile ceiling. ‘Soon I had many children to take care of. The moment one of them were grown up, the next would be on the way.’ She smiled brushing her wrinkled fingers on my chin.

‘Granny why dont you wear a blouse?’ I asked her innocently.
She laughed, her laughter breaking at her tonsils. She took a brass vessel and spitted in it. ‘Blouse? That is the invention of today. People are shy and are becoming more conservative now-a-days. In our time, we hardly used to match horoscopes during marriages, now look, they will consult the astrologer for everything, even to go to the toilet.’
The fan slowly squeaked to a halt.

‘Aah, the electricity has gone. It will come after three hours.’ Janaki bua came in with a steel vessel.

‘I am going to the fields. Will come back in an hour’

‘Bua, can I come?’

‘You are from Bombay, you wouldn’t like spoiling your slippers and legs in the mud!’ I could say from here tone, she was trying to avoid taking me there.

‘Take this boy’ achchamma relented. ‘He should know what we are in our hearts. In our hearts, we are farmers, who makes mother earth flourish, and every child of our family should be proud of that!’

‘Hmphhh... now a days children dont want to be farmers, they all want to be engineers and doctors. Don’t try to force it into them..’ she replied.

‘I want to be a farmer.’ I got up, my chest full of pride.

‘And where will you sow your seeds in Bombay?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘Well we have a balcony, and we can turn that into a small field!’

‘Yes and Tanuja aunty who lives below us will complain of a leaking ceiling’ my mother added as she entered with a plate of kanji (rice in boiled water) for achchamma.

‘Amma can I go with bua to the fields?’

‘Yes, but be careful’ she said ‘don’t hurt yourself.’

‘You think we can’t take care of children? We are from the village, but we take care of children better than you city women.’

‘I did not mean that.’ I could see pain in amma’s eyes, but she withheld it from being noticed.

‘Now stop it Janaki, and go, your husband must be waiting for you.’ achchamma said as she slurped the rice and water with the spoon.

Bua pulled me. It was evident she was angry with my mother. She dragged me along the muddy path. The little path gave way to large green fields, which had little bund walls collecting the water that came from the canal. The bund walls where pretty narrow, narrow enough for one person to walk on it. I found it difficult to balance myself on it and within a few seconds, i had tripped into the field, my slippers covered in muck. It was difficult for me to walk, and i kept limping, which made bua even more angry. She kept mumbling to herself something which i could barely hear. I removed my slippers and walked barefoot. I realised, it was easier that way. I held the pair of slippers in my hands and ran behind bua.

Shankar chacha was tying the bulls to a coconut tree when we reached there.

‘So the Bombay boy has come to become a farmer’ he said as he took a pile of grass and fed it to the hungry bulls.

‘I want to be a farmer’ I said with pride. ‘That is what we all are, in our hearts’ I repeated what achchamma had said.

‘Looks like somebody was having a long chat with achchamma’ he said as he washed his hands from a bucket of water. Bua had carefully laid a small cloth under the tree and put a plate with rice and some curry on it.

‘Did you have your lunch, son?’ he asked looking at me.

‘He will have it when we get back home’ bua replied before i could.

‘I thought he had come here to be a farmer’ he looked at me teasingly as he mixed the rice with the curry.

‘I want to be a farmer’ I stood there, taking up the challenge that was thrown at me.

‘Just dont give this boy any vague ideas. If he hurts himself, his mother will blame me’ bua was at her sarcastic best.

‘Come on Janaki, he is a boy and if he wants to help, what is wrong in that? This is the age to get hurt, to fall, break a knee...’

‘If you want to do it, you do it. No body should blame me for it.’

‘No one will. Now serve some rice to my new helper. We have a lot of work to do’

Bua was not happy about it, but with a huff, she did serve me. I sat there under the tree and had my lunch. The rock beneath me hurt me, but the air was fresh and the sun rays sneaked through the tall coconut trees and squirells danced on their trunks, as I ate. After a while, we had buttermilk and then, bua left.

‘Why does bua hate me and my mother?’

‘And what makes you think that?’

‘She is always so angry at her and me all the time’ I tried to tell chacha.

‘She doesn’t hate you. She loves you and your mother very much. And you should know that!’

‘No. She hates us. Everytime she is angry and she keeps saying mean things to my mother.’ The anger was slowly building in me as my ears warmed up.

Shankar chacha then hugged me with his strong arms and ruffled my hair. ‘Only people who love you can be angry with you. Anger is another form of love. You will learn that when you grow up. Now take that shovel and come with me.’ he said getting up and walking towards the fields. He then took of his cap made of a palm leaf and put it on my head. ‘Young farmer, watch closely...’ He then took the shovel and pushed it into the wet soil pulling out the muck and pushed it aside making a single row. He then passed the shovel to me, and asked me to repeat it. My ankles were already in muck and as I rose the shovel, I felt something on my calf. I turned to look at it and it was an earthworm! I shrieked horrified at it and dropped the shovel which fell down on my toes putting me off balance as i fell backwards into the muck completely soiling my clothes.

The shovel’s wooden end had hit my thumb and it pained. Shankar chacha pulled me out and asked me to remove my t-shirt. It was completely soiled and I was sure, I would be punished by maa. Shankar chacha pulled out an earthworm and asked me to open my hand. At first, I clasped my hands tightly refusing to hold the earthworm. Then he asked me to close my eyes. I obeyed, and he asked me to stretch my hands. It tickled. I opened my eyes. It was Shankar chacha.

‘See, I am just tickling you. There is no earthworm’ he said.

I again closed my eyes. The tickle was lesser. He asked me to open my eyes. I did, and I saw the Earthworm on my fist reaching out at me, confused.

‘This, Shibu, is our friend. He is every farmer’s friend.’ He said the earthworms helped the soil to be rich and it was God’s way of helping the farmer grow crops to feed himself. ‘I don’t know till when we will last and who will take care of these crops. Nobody is interested in farming anymore. It is not fashionable. Everyone wants to be doctor’s or engineers... or film heroes, but no body wants to step into this soil and work hard to grow food. Because for people, food is something that can be bought in the grocery store.’

‘Why dont you start a grocery store then?’ I asked.

He laughed heartily. ‘Someone has to give them grains to sell! I wish raju and ravi took up farming!’

‘Where are they?’ I asked. It had been two years since I met them.

‘They are in Bangalore, doing an ITI course. They want to go to the Gulf... and make money.’ His voice had a hesitation, and a hint of sadness.

‘That is so nice! Going to another country!’ I couldnot understand why he was sad about it. They could make money and send it to Shankar Chacha and Bua and they dont have to work hard in the fields anymore.

‘Well, I am not going to another country. This is my land and I would like to die working in my fields than anywhere else!’

It was evening and the evening had become pleasant. I was completely sweating and dirty. We both walked to the temple pond nearby. The water was green and I jumped into it and swam around for a long time. Shankar chacha watched me with amazement.

‘You swim pretty well’ he said.

‘I came first last year in the inter-school championship’ I said proudly. ‘My photo had come in the newspaper’ I beamed with pride.

‘Your father must be proud of you’ he said.

‘I don’t know. He just smiles and says - good!’

‘Oh, Ramachandran is like that. He will never show his emotion to anybody. Let me tell you a secret.’

I was now curious to know. ‘He loves you a lot, because when you are not around, he keeps talking about you.’

‘Really!’ I was shocked and happy too. I always thought my father was never happy of what I did. ‘But he never tells me anything.’

‘He will never tell you anything. No father will, atleast not Ram, because he wants you to be the best.’

Later Shankar Chacha and I walked back home. The sun had set and the distant temple speaker had a devotional song playing. When I reached the courtyard of the house, there were people waiting outside.

Janaki bua, came running to Shankar chacha. ‘Where were you? I came to the fields you weren’t there.’

‘What happened?’ Chacha left my hand as he rushed inside.

That night was achchamma’s last night. She had difficulty breathing. She was weak and she had stopped responding to any medicines. Old age had caught up with her. She was 91 that year. She died peacefully curled up in the wooden bed, like a baby. Most of her children were by her side except her fourth son, who was serving the army in Assam. The house was full of people as all the sons and daughters and grandchildren came to bid farewell to achchamma. I looked at my father who stood against a wooden column. I didnot see a tear in his eye, but somehow I felt his pain. His stubble had grown a bit, and he started looking a bit old. I went to him and hugged him at his waist. He sat down on the step by the column, hugged me and cried.