She enjoyed a luxurious life in her girlhood
days, being the blue-eyed grand-daughter of the local judicial magistrate of a
village that had seen better times when Englishmen ruled
the roost. Her father, an Engineer in the local electricity
department, owed his existence and reputation to the upright no-nonsense
magistrate in the local court. Of course, the engineer had a worthy
qualification and was eloquent enough to give a run for any Dorai's money
when it came to the Firang's language. As I said, he owed all these and more to
his magistrate father. The judge taught not just English, but the prevailing legalese
of the times to his five children through rather informal ways by sitting in
judgement and disposing off domestic cases at home, admitted impromptu,
whenever disputes arose, in the family drawing room, most of them trivial and
not worthy of the magistrate's attention. Of course, he also adjudicated
serious cases in the family sans the simulated court parlance and practices.
Back to the grand-daughter, she was
sent to the local school, "Amala Convent", where every scion of
respectable families in the village were taught by nuns and fathers of the
local CSI mission. Probably, Christianity spread its wings and entered the
country by first making inroads in this region. Most hospitals and schools of
the times in this region owed their existence to the Christian missionaries
from England. The CSI mission and The Salvation Army are two such major
evangelicals that have seen the vicissitudes of time spanning more than a
century and have survived to date. The protagonist here, the magistrate's granddaughter, Chella,
mingled with the Christian populace in school, but kept religiously to her
conservative Hindu practices dictated through generations of ancestry that can
be traced back to a traditionally laid back town with rich history and heritage
in the neighbouring district, known for making waffles on a large scale.
Growing up in an affluent family made Chella a
happy-go-lucky girl. Boasting of a spacious bungalow on the highway with a
fairly large backyard and garden spread over five acres, with every tree one
could name, Chella had an unforgettable and happy childhood devoid
of any worry, concern or handicap, whether monetary or otherwise. She had the
best of eatables at her command, be it the fresh fruits from the south western
ghats brought in by vendors to her home, or the best of cakes and pastries from
"The Little Flower Bakery" (then owned and managed by a young British
girl), the nicest of dresses purchased from the local district headquarters, a
few miles away from the village, or watching evening shows in the local theatre
without having to buy a ticket or having to walk down to the Cinemas, about
half a mile away from home. The ever reliable and trustworthy Ambassador,
driven by the loyal Moses was a luxury few could dream in those days.
Like they say, good times do not last, nor do
bad times. But here, in this story, Chella's first eighteen years was
destined to be followed by challenging and troublesome times ahead of
her. A marriage with a distant relative within the family catapulted Chella from
southern rural settings to Bombay, the commercial and cosmopolitan capital
of the days. Disasters followed. She came back to her village within six
months, draped in white. He was a congenital heart patient, earlier with
instructions from the Doc to his parents, never to think of wedlock. So the old couple lost their only son, he paid with his life, Chella, her
future and the esteemed family, their social standing and reputation.
A subdued period of uneasy silence and
disquiet prevailed in the large household after Chella boomeranged
herself back to the obscured village, and to a community that was yet
struggling to wriggle out of customs and taboos steeped in archaic beliefs and
practices.
A forlorn Chella was all left to
herself, cloistered by the dictates of an inflexible patriarchy of
'twice-borns' that swore by age old practices. The senior patriarch stood stoically
on the altar of an expressionless demeanor that few could fathom. His
'perceived' neutrality, even when it came to sensitive domestic matters, was
those that could hardly escape poignancy in a normal man. But destiny put
paid to the purported indifference of the spartan with a staid countenance. Few
months later, a seemingly heartless heart refused to pump further to its
organic associates, ebbing life out of the hitherto dispenser of justice. His
last two words were unforgettable to those clustered around on his deathbed...."Chella...Chella" !!
Her electrical engineer father, who was
shocked beyond belief at the unheralded turn of events, turned out to be more
expressively sympathetic than his own father. A change in family regime ensued,
when he had to perforce don the mantle of pater familias. He decided to, slowly
but surely; emerge out of the tall shadows of the deceased magistrate. But
the engineer was wise and mature enough to bring about a transition in a most
dignified and enduring manner. An almost seamless metamorphosis of sorts was on
the anvil.
Widowed, but issue-less, Chella sometimes
sought refuge in the pelagic confluence at the land's end that was only a
few miles away. The engineer, on the pretext of attending to official work at the headquarters,
occasionally took Chella to the Promenade to enable her to
ruminate and to find peace in an otherwise heartless world. The sight of a
gradual consumption of the fiery ball by endless realms of water was a
great lesson, both in humility and hope. Even the largest luminary had to
perforce, retire from glory, albeit temporarily and give way to his nocturnal
queen, to preside over nature and people, in his absence.
The seemingly quiet waters on the surface
were, in no measure, devoid of strong undercurrents. So was the engineer.
During the long walks along the Promenade, he urged Chella to make
productive use of such pensive times to learn and acquire skills that could
stand her in good stead in the times to come.
The outcome of such welcome breaks from a
claustrophobic monotony in life was not only redeeming but also ushered in new
possibilities for an otherwise helpless girl. Chella subscribed to
long distance course on the National language from an institute in the state
capital through a franchisee from the nearby district headquarters, much to the
chagrin of both womenfolk and elders in the extended family and community. But
the aggrieved father, now the Asst Superintending Engineer of the taluk, brooked
no dissension in these matters and kept the freeloading advisors at bay and at
a protective distance from his hopes. Chella also went on to learn
the classical language of the Gods and the neighboring vernacular from a
reputed institution in God's own country that paradoxically embraced communism,
the chief propagator ironically belonging the upper most sect of the twice born
in the whole of the Hindu country.
A few years passed by in the transition process. The period also
witnessed some progress with Chella's siblings. Her elder brother, who
could not progress beyond the sixth form, attended an interview, at the
instance and making of his father, with a National coffee marketing company and
would be 'bonded" with the business for life until he would
be superannuated at the turn of the century. Two younger brothers were yet
in school, trying to make sense of what could be in store for them in the times
to come. The younger of them would later make it to the Space Center
in the neighbouring state capital, where he would serve until his retirement.
The other brother turned out to be the typical prodigal son of a rather
indulgent father. A rolling stone, gathering no moss through his lifetime, and
shunned by all and sundry, he would finally end up as the standby priest in
'street-corner' temples, left to fend for himself, all alone. He would finally succumb during the post-covid summer in a small coastal town that witnessed communal riots in the early eighties, unable to endure excruciating pain in his pelvic region.
Chella, armed with knowledge of two
languages apart from the local vernacular, enrolled as a tutor in a private
school, close to her home. She soon fell into standard routines from dawn to
dusk, interspersed with light domestic duties at home. Her mother, a most
dutiful and obedient wife (who also bore the brunt of a patriarchal household),
was most tolerant with her children, Chella included.
After the demise of the judge, the question of
partition of assets was looming large on the joint family of his two sons. The
daughters were given away in marriage to grooms from distant cities. Among a
host of other assets, the residential home of the family was agreed upon to be
split vertically across the median line cutting across from the main door up to
the backyard containing the fruit trees. Only the outer verandah, open passage
and garden leading to the main gate on the highway were shared as common property
between the brothers. The engineer chose to retain the left side of the
partition while the right side went to his civil engineer brother who took upon
himself the task of building the wall across the length of the house. The
garage near the gate was on the left corner of the plot.
Chella's father then thought deeply about
the existential realities of the family and decided that it was time to call
for bold reforms. Through the columns of the an English "National
Newspaper", he put forth a proffer to accept a bride for his eldest son
provided the prospective bride's brother was willing to grant a fresh lease of
life to his only daughter, with no other strings attached. He offered to bear
all the expenses of the proposed twin marriages. His only condition stipulated
that the family should belong to the same community, with no bar on sub-sect,
region or economic status.
There was no immediate response though, after
about a week, the postman knocked. It was a letter posted from Pathankot. A
young junior officer from Air Force had made a bid. The message was rather
brief with a summarized background of the family that hailed from the banks of
Cauvery. The family had, apparently, seen better times in its previous
generations. The Sergeant's father had, effortlessly, over a period of time,
managed to dismantle his father's empire bit by bit, until a time came when his
eldest son ran away from home to enroll in the Defense services. Now he became
the sole breadwinner in the family. This gesture from the Sergeant was intended
to see one of his two sisters married and ensconced safely in a respectable
family where all her needs would be fulfilled.
The time came for the Sergeant to be called
for an informal interview with the Engineer. It was fixed for a couple of
months later since the prospective groom had to travel through the length of
the country in those reddish vestibules chugging in and out of the diverse
landscapes. He was also mandated to serve a month's notice for any leave
especially during times of war with neighboring countries. Eventually, the
discussions took place, sans the elders in the serviceman’s family. The
Sergeant took the decision. Chella's marriage was fixed first, as a sine qua non for the Coffee-man's wedding. The former event was a low key
affair with none from the groom's family being invited for the union that was
solemnized in a temple atop a hill about two miles from the highway home. The
temple that exists for more than two thousand years, is the "venue that
witnessed the wedlock between Lord Subramanya and Goddess Valli", asserts
Silappathikaram, one of the earliest epic poems in Tamil literature. The
quid-pro-quo wedding was a grand gala affair, celebrated in style in a large
mandap in the district headquarters, attended by one and all, including the
bride's family.
All’s well that ends well.
But did it end well ? Well, that’s for another day, another time. Chella’s
chronicles will continue.
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