Home..

The very first sip of coffee and the religious chants of M.S Subalakshmi’s Suprabatham are my every day morning pleasures. I switch on the CD and let the house fill with the peaceful canticle of the melody..The soft yet powerful chant reminds me of waking up to Grandpa’s daily ritual.. He used to listen to Suprabatham in the morning for all the 84 years of his life..and now I’ve adopted his ritual and it takes me back to reliving all the wonderful years of childhood, home and being grandpa’s favorite ..

Childhood and home…

Forgetting even the smallest details of the little village and the perfect house I grew up in, is not possible..Going home from school, the excitement that stirs within me when I reached the huge gates, were something to look forward to always.... To me the house was a mansion and still is.. with its white columns and mosaic floors, high ceilings, and huge rooms..
But best of all I loved the garden outside..It was my very own paradise..My little village being on the foot of the mountains always had the perfect weather..not to hot nor to cold..Plants thrived in the garden..It was my own personal get away place..Most of all the swing set was my favorite..I loved to play on it..Going higher and higher, trying hard to reach the sky, almost ready to fly..A feeling of independence and freedom..Nothing in this world can match the feeling of the wind's caress, the thrill of being almost weightless and so high up on the horizon..How many times have I envied the birds and their gift of flight..The vines and creepers twining on trees and walls adorned with beautiful flowers..The garden had a mystical feel to it..The flowers were a hue of colors red, white and yellow, pink, blue and purple all blended in perfect harmony..Roses, jasmine, lilies, primrose, blue shells and hibiscus, all with a fragrance unique and lovely..Dancing with their silken petals and slender stems to the silent rhythm in the air..

How can I forget all the wonderful stories and fantasies I’ve made up sitting in the stone bench among the bushes..The little insects and butterflies buzzing around in their colorful jackets, collecting nectar and honey..Munching on the juicy sweet fruits, plucked fresh from the trees, I roam around in my own garden of Eden..Every little plant in the garden had my undivided attention for atleast a minute or 2.. Stopping by each flower, a few hellos and howdys later, I go to the next.

The almost dried up well in the back yard was forbidden..Against Dad’s instructions I take a peek inside..The dirty, murky water at the very bottom always scared me a little.. The cows and their calves in their own sheds shooing away flies with their tails and chewing cuds, I looked forward to seeing them everyday..I am sure they were happy to see me too..They always got an extra helping of hay when I visited them..

i kept track of every crack and mark on the garden wall..i paid attention to every wood pecker and sparrow on the trees..The watering do’s and don’ts for the huge lush lawn and the ever green trees was always a topic for debate with grandma and an uncle..I used to sit listening to them, wondering what the plants themselves might feel about this..The plants in my garden always had their say, in my fantasy world that is..

In times of disappointment, frustrations or sorrow, I go to my garden..The plants, insects, birds and the spotted cows always welcomed me and amidst them I found the strength and power to heal away any little squabble I might have had with the world..

Back inside the house..the mosaic floors and huge rooms with high ceilings are equally beautiful to look at..The huge teak doors with elaborate handles and heavy ornamental locks and keys are breath taking..The very old fashioned fans, lights and their controls..The big beautiful swing with intricate carvings that hangs from the high ceiling..I admit I have a weakness for swings and mom knew that..The large and lively dining area, with sunshine streaming through all the windows was always welcoming..The well equipped kitchen had its own master chief who created a few of my most memorable childhood meals..The kitchen, I fondly remember it being my Research and Development department, when I first started trying my hands on the art of cooking..and can I ever forget the brave maids who were always ready to sample the mostly edible cuisines I dished out.. The open wash area and the laundry room, where i used to play Hide and go seek and pretend to be the queen.. Nostalgic memories..every one of them..

Mom was one of the best interior decorators I’d ever known..Give her a piece of junk and she will turn it into a work of art, fit to display in a palace..The already beautifully built home and well maintained garden was made even more lovelier and more welcoming when it met mom and a little messy when I came along.. During my vacations, I spent most of the time trying to burn into my brain the image of the house and the garden, a mental picture to take back to school..

I had my own room and let mom have fun decorating and re decorating it as much as she wanted..Since I was hardly home for more than 3 months in a year from school, every time I came home, my room looked a little different..mom’s touch, but my own little treasures were always left untouched..Like every other room in the house it was bright and cheerful.. and was pink too..Teddy Bears and stuffed toys littered the floor..Try coming home for just 3 month in a year and u can get away with a messy, littered room..

The walls in the living room are fitted with pretty family portraits and with the very immature works of arts and crafts I had done over the years..A huge grandfather clocks chimes every 15 minutes, and its arms needs to be wound periodically..Listening to the chimes even now, makes me very nostalgic..The veranda is a half circle and is arranged tastefully with wicker chairs in matching patterns, which are occupied most of the time by aunts and uncles coming to visit us..Life at home as I remember was always a party, end number of people visiting us on a daily bases..Like every other household, we had routines too..Rather strict ones, since grandpa was a stickler for punctuality..Taught me some valuable lessons, it did..Lessons for life..

Being home was like being in a fairytale..Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and return to my personal fairy land, away from all the bumps and bruises of this world..

Now, I have a family of my own and live far away from my little village. But, just the thought of visiting home brings immense joy.. Driving through the dirt roads and huge gates, I still feel the same excitement brewing within me.. Like always even before I collect my bags, I take a mental snap shot of the house, imprinting it in my brain for the zillionth time..I start from the veranda and work my way through the house and finally to my beloved garden, feeling and touching everything from the walls to the photos, the little ornaments, trinkets and the lovely plants and flowers, the forbidden well and mooing cows.. It brings a tear to my eye hearing them all say, ’Welcome Home G’ .. I let my inner child roam free and my eyes and mind goes snap..snap, soaking up the sights for future use on a gloomy rainy day, for it can make me forget my worries and smile, bringing back memories of home..