Tag: School

Janaki ammoomma

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Janaki bhai. Or Janaki ammoomma? She made a transition to and fro between the two. She came into my life as my pseudo-nanny. She didn’t really baby-sit me, but picked me up from kindergarten and walked me to a day-care nearby. I’d spend my evening with Valsala ammoomma till dad came to pick me up. Valsala ammoomma had many kids my age to cater to, and an assistant, Mani chechi. By the time I reach the day-care, everyone would be up, having their evening snacks. Mani chechi would play with us for a while and soon leave, as the kids start leaving. One by one, all of them would leave, and it’d be just me and Valsala ammoomma. She’d then take me to her home adjacent to the day-care. I’d watch her make tea and crush the areca nut, layer the tobacco and make a cute betel leaf pocket with a touch of slaked lime. It is a beautiful sight to watch her meticulously prepare the murukkaan (paan’s Kerala version). Then she’d offer me a piping hot cup of tea to relish. I was hesitant initially, mostly because tea was a new thing and I was worried if parents wouldn’t approve of it. Mind you, I was barely 5. But when I finally took the cup, I tasted the most exquisite ‘chaaya‘ and the taste still lingers in my tongue. Every ‘good’ chaaya ever since takes me back to Valsala ammoomma’s kitchen and the kitchen doorway where I sat watching the bustling traffic. Memories like these come with a tinge of loss and a lot of happiness.

That was an unplanned digression. But one is incomplete without the other. Back to Janaki ammoomma, somewhere in the middle of all these, she got promoted as a house help for my working mom. As kindergarten came to an end and when day-care was not very exciting, I started coming back home to Janaki ammoomma who waited for me at the door. She’d clean and I’d watch TV, and she’d keep me company till parents come. Things changed when sister came into the scene and I grew old enough to be home alone. Amidst and beyond all of that, some things haven’t changed. The memory of she running to reach home lest I be alone, the rare occasions where the ‘auto chettan’ who picked me up from school picked her up too, panting and running on her way to our home. Her overgrown mole in the middle of her chin, her frail build, her rough hands that used to hold my hand walking from school to the day-care, her alcoholic son, and most of all her calling me “Soumyakkutty…”!

P.S. Ammoomma is Malayalam for grandma.

Retrospective

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

On a second thought, I was wondering if we should be going at all. Running way late from the schedule, there was hardly anytime to actually spend there. But then again, I thought, we might not be getting another comfortable day like this. Then it was a jet flash spree to get there. Seeing the others already leaving, I was skeptic again. Go in! With a quick hey-bye to the leaving group, I rushed in. The once familiar place now left me (us) wondering. Where to begin from! This stairs? That corridor? The new block? So many new rooms! So many new boards. The trademark aquarium missing. The omnipresent blue and white replaced with unidentifiable hues, and kids walking around in such shades! The place is very much our own, but yet to be disowned in so many ways, for so many reasons! The home to our dreams, passion, spirit, and oneness.

Kendriya Vidyalaya Ernakulam is not anybody’s private property. But so many of us still claim it our own. To the extent that, you feel comfortable to run the computer lab and mock at Radha madam for still being stuck with the same clerical chores! Or to walk into library and put your friends as prey to Jikki madam’s never ending lecture, and smoothly slide into the books. Pull ‘your’ chair, (I had my own chair at our library hours!) and grab a book, stare at the wall hangings and decipher meaning out of horribly lengthy quotes! To walk into Physics lab and look around as if you are looking for a friend, go in and seach all nook and corner, (actually searching for Suresh sir!), like you own the lab! Barge into staff room and ask for teachers, like they once did to us and took us to the ‘task’! And last (totally not the least that we can do. We are capable of so much more in the school!), wait outside the Principal’s office, talk, giggle, laugh, jibber-jabber, do whatever. And distract the Principal’s meeting to bring out Samuelkutty sir out of the meeting! And finally, just stand suspiciously along the corridor or staff room door. Betty madam or Nambiar sir might have something to tell you.

And of all things said and acknowledged, I never expected to hear, “You should have taken English or journalism. That was the expectation from you.” Wasn’t I elated to hear that! Rajalakshmi madam says how would I be ever forgotten! (My companions might have felt bad. But I felt uber good! Hope you girls ain’t reading this! 🙂 ) What about me makes them remember me? Rosily madam of all teachers! I was surprised she remembers us! (read ‘me’ :P) I should have done something more worthwhile than B.Tech! No matter what technological marvel I ‘might’ be a part of, I don’t ever think that any such achievement can replace the disappointment from my English teachers. It is not regret, but ‘missing’ English!

At the end of the day, I am glad. To have had such a pleasant retrospective. To have ran through the corridors once again, and jumped up the stairs, and wandered across the auditorium. Reminded of a past. Of innocence. Of happiness. Of dreams. Of satisfaction. Of friendship. Of the awesome days. Without regret. Bliss.

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